Phantasmagoria
by Thirteenth Shadow
Summary: Phantasmagoria. That is what Isabelle DeFranco first thought – just a dream, until she opens her door, looks down and is forced to step a foot back in the precinct, all the while trying her best to avoid Flack.
1. Emotional Drought

**CSI: New York**

**My first CSI fiction ever written. Please, please, please review because it will definitely help in many ways from motivation to writing better. Besides, I do want to know how I'm doing, whether or not you are enjoying the story or if the story is far too unbearable to carry on reading (which I hope it's not _that_ bad). So please, do review. **

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**One**

In an apartment, two women sat on a bed, photographs scattered around them. The brunette could not stop herself from laughing so hard at a picture of them being drunk. The auburn haired could only shook her head in disbelief, chuckling as she grabbed a photograph in front of her and slotting it in the empty slot in the photo album.

"Aiden, seriously," the auburn haired spoke up grabbing a pen from Aiden's fingers. "It was two years ago that it's not funny anymore." She wrote down on the blank space provided in the photo album: _Aiden and I bullying Danny_. She laughed at that, remembering how squirmy Danny was after Aiden went a step further by licking one side of his cheek.

"Oh, I remember that," Aiden laughed even louder grabbing the photo album away from Isabelle. "It was Don who took the picture, right? It can't possibly be you considering you were with me."

"Yeah, it was Don," she confirmed taking it back and slotting yet another photograph. Aiden helped herself to another photograph and laughed again. Isabelle ignored her this time and switched the radio on to keep herself from falling asleep because, honestly, listening to her laughter was not doing much help.

Aiden handed her the photograph and looked back at the radio in her bedroom. She cringed at the music that came out of the speakers. "Oh, come on, isn't there any other song?"

"No," she mumbled as a reply before looking up at her and grinning. "Deal with it, Aiden." Aiden rolled her eyes before plopping herself down on the bed. Isabelle resumed on slotting the pictures in, which after every each slot, she wrote a little note to remember by. "So, what is it that you want me to help with?"

Aiden sat up after that, smiling sheepishly. "Well, you know, I haven't really got enough time to return all the borrowed things back to their owners. So maybe you could help me with that? Don't worry though, those things belongs to the people on our team."

"Come again?" Isabelle asked, blinking. "Wait a minute, hold up. You want me to return it to Mac, Stella, Danny and Don? You borrowed things from them four?"

"Five, actually," she amended. "And yes, is it that hard to believe?"

"What could you possibly borrow from Don? Better yet—Mac?"

"Sheldon," she said and Isabelle thought that she was answering her previous question until, "the fifth is Sheldon."

Isabelle frowned. "I don't work with them anymore, Aiden. You know that. Why don't you just return it yourself? I know you no longer work there but still."

The room fell silent after that and Isabelle felt the room suddenly becoming colder. She looked back at Aiden, waiting, pen already tapping upon the photo album before her.

"It's because I'm already—"

Isabelle groaned loudly as her left hand shot out from under the comforter, switching the alarm off. _I hate Mondays._ She buried her face deeper into her pillow willing that she had forgotten to unset the alarm last night before going to bed and that today was a Sunday. She was drifting off to sleep once again when her eyes shot open, the dream she had earlier rushing back to her mind.

_"It's because I'm already—"_ Aiden's voice was so vivid in her mind that for a moment there—face still buried in her pillow, left hand hanging by the side of the bed, and both of her legs sticking out from under the comforter—she thought Aiden had actually talked to her asking for help to return all the borrowed things.

"She's dead, Isabelle," she muttered to herself flipping herself over on the bed, sprawled out. "Get over it."

Pushing the comforter away from covering her petite body, she flung both of her legs to the side of the bed and touched the parquet flooring below. It was a little too cold than she had expected it to be and looked down, only to discover that photographs of her, Aiden, Danny and Don were scattered about on the floor. Even the pen and the photo album that was in her dream were on the bed when she glanced over her shoulders.

_The radio, _she suddenly remembered. She looked across the bedroom and suddenly she was skeptical. It was indeed on, playing the song that Aiden hated so much with her heart.

"What? You think I'm making this up?" Isabelle spat into her cell phone while she buttoned her red blouse down. "I've saved my work on Friday evening, all tired and aching all over." She sat herself down on the edge of the bed and shoved her feet into the black stiletto that she had recently bought. "It's there, Em, please. Just check it one more time."

She stood up and donned the matching black jacket that came with the skirt-suit. Checking her hair one last time, she smacked her lips and grabbed her purse, all ready for work when Em's reply reached her ears. "No, _Isabelle_, I've checked it the first time and it's not there. I've checked it twice now, still with the same result. Are you sure you've saved it, _properly_?"

She frowned, opening her apartment door and rushed out. "That can't be possible Emi—oh shit!" She gripped onto the doorframe instinctively to prevent her from tripping over her own footsteps and wearing heels was not really making things any better.

"Are you okay there?" Emily's voice shrieked. "Isabelle, say something!"

She looked down and gaped at the sight. Well, a box was not really something to gape at because it was just a taped-up box. How she did not see it in the first place, she had no idea but she knew it had to be heavy because well, she nearly fell flat on her face on a Monday morning.

"I thought I was going to fall over my own clumsiness," she laughed nervously into the phone, uncertain if she was to laugh or be worried about the whole situation.

"Well, you better hurry up to the office," Emily stated. "He's just about twenty minutes away from arriving."

"See you in a bit, then," she said hanging up.

She stepped over the box and bent over to push it in (she figured she would deal with it _after_ work) but she nearly dropped her phone when she saw what was scrawled upon the side of the box. The handwriting was vividly familiar (she could not quite place a finger whose) but it was the name that made her froze.

**FLACK**.


	2. Between the Worlds

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**Two**

Her eyes fixed on the telephone on her desk. She was tempted to call Danny, seeing that contacting Don was something she thought she would not do. She lifted the receiver up to her ear, already punching the first five numbers before she backed out. _I can't do this._ She glanced down at the box. _Was that really a dream? She wants me to return them for her?_

She had come to the office earlier only to find that another box was waiting for her at the front desk at her _workplace_. It was bad enough that Flack's one had greeted her in the morning which was currently inside her apartment. And now she had to deal with Danny's, too.

"Isabelle," the boss called out quietly upon entering her cubicle. He waited as the auburn haired slowly turned in her swivel chair, looking up at him, a look of distress on her face. _She's right; she needs a vacation. _"Is something wrong?"

She smiled right after that, chuckling. "Everything's fine, Mr. Thornton," she replied. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Um, no," he returned. "Listen, why don't you go for a vacation? You look like you need one and I'd like to apologize for not letting you go sooner." He glanced down at the box by his feet. _I don't want you resigning. _"So what do you say?"

She was taken aback by the offer. "For three weeks?"

He shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

She was skeptical now. "If my mother—"

"Your mother has got nothing to do with this," he intervened, lowering his voice. "I'm just _begging_ you to go for a vacation, okay? For three weeks. You've been working yourself way too hard and your files keep going missing. Do something about it. You need a break before it breaks you."

And it took only that for her to give in, grabbed Danny's box (which was equally heavy to Don's) and hailed a cab.

She was going back to the precinct.

The cab stopped in front of the precinct. Isabelle took a moment to look at it, sighing. She really loved her job here but could not find a reason why she quit it in the first place. She told the cab driver to hold on while she rushed inside for a moment. Stepping out of the cab, she ascended the steps and entered, heading for the front desk.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

She offered the officer a small smile. "I'm looking for Detective Fla—"She stopped. _Not Flack! No, no, no, don't say Flack._ She was not even looking for Flack considering it was Danny's box that was with her, in the cab waiting outside.

"Are you looking for Detective Flack?" he asked, looking at her.

She sighed. "No, actually, I'm looking for Detective Messer. If he's around, that is."

"You can find him next—"

"I know where to find him," she cut him off, "but is he in?"

He looked at her for a moment. "I don't think so, ma'am. It's like there's a massacre in the city lately." Sure enough, when she looked around, the room was almost empty. "Would you like to leave a message for both detectives?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, thank you." Just as she turned around, she stopped. _So much of trying to avoid him, _she thought angrily. Walking towards him—who was currently blocking the entrance—they stared into each other's eyes for a moment. Green boring back into blue before her legs moved on its own without her realizing it and stomped her heels right on his shoe – hard.

"What was that for?" he hissed, wincing.

"You think it's funny, Don?" she raised her voice and as soon as she said that, she brushed past him and ran down the steps not wanting to deal with him.

"What is?" he called out, rushing after her. He grabbed her hand before she could grasp the door handle to the cab and twirled her around. "Stop running away from me every time you're pissed off."

Lindsay who was a few feet down the street saw this and found it rather interesting. "Who's that?" she asked Danny. He looked up.

"Pissed off?" Isabelle repeated incredulously. "Oh I'm beyond pissed off right now. You've done way too many things intentionally to hurt me, to embarrass me and to humiliate me." She tried wriggling her hands free out of his grasp and huffed. "And now you intentionally want to make my life miserable? Let me go, _Flack_!" She lifted her leg to stomp on him again but he pushed her leg down, placing his hand on her thigh. She swatted it away. "Don't touch me!"

He was agitated now. "Well, if I don't touch you, I would have to limp my way around the city by now."

"Serve you right for placing your damn box in front of my door!" she said indignantly.

Yeah, she thought Don himself had put the box intentionally in front of her door despite the fact that the thought never cross her mind. In fact, she found it strange, especially after that dream. But as soon as she laid eyes on him, all she wanted was to lash out at him and blame him for _everything_.

"What box, Isabelle? What's your problem?" he let her go. "I don't even know where you're staying at. Hell, I didn't even know you're back from Miami until now."

She stared at him. _He knows? _"Are you spying on me?"

He shook his head in disbelief and turned around to walk away. She fought the urge of wanting to run up behind him and choke him with his tie…until Danny suddenly appeared in front her, holding her back, just in case if she broke out into a run after Don. Not attempting of holding her back was not really a wise move because knowing her, she would.

"Let me go, Danny," she murmured. She looked into his eyes. "I mean it."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, sounding as if he was not happy to see her; he was. He just made it sound different. He tried again. "I mean, I thought you were in Miami?"

"You," she said accusingly. "You told him, didn't you?" _But I didn't tell Danny._

"Tell who about what?"

"You were in on the prank, too?"

"What prank?" he asked, absolutely confused now. She did not say anything for a moment. She was just breathing hard. _She's fuming, bad, _he thought. "Breathe, Belle, you got to breathe."

"I _am_ breathing."

"Okay," he sighed letting her go, assuring himself that she would not be running after Don now. He introduced Lindsay to her. "This is Monta—" he paused and the cleared his throat, "I mean this is _Lindsay_ Monroe." Isabelle glanced at her smiling a little. "And this is Isabelle DeFranco that I've been telling you about."

"Nice to meet you," Lindsay smiled, shaking her hand.

"Likewise," she returned before mumbling, "unlike some _people_."

Danny chuckled. "Don's been restless lately, so don't mind him."

Isabelle rolled her eyes in annoyance. "He's _always_ restless, Danny. Always finding fault with me."

Danny shrugged. "He can be this big jerk, really. But for how long have you two been doing this? Even after Aiden—" He stopped right there realizing what he was about to say. Lindsay became uncomfortable and Isabelle did not know how to react to that.

"Oh," Isabelle finally said opening the door to the cab of the backseat. "Please retrieve your box." She shrugged at him when he gave her a rather questioning look. "It's heavy, I know," she mumbled helping him steady as he stood back up straight. "I don't know what's inside because someone sent it to my workplace. I'm just making sure you have it. And now, I have to go." She hugged Lindsay and then Danny before getting in the cab.

"Uh, Montana," Danny called, "a little help here?" He was struggling with the box and she smiled evilly.

"You've got the wrong name there." She turned around and walked away, leaving Danny trailing behind her, struggling.

**sarramaks - Thank you! I'm glad you found it an intriguing start. Well, that was chapter two.**


	3. Some Say

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**X**

**Three**

"Flack, you okay?" Stella asked noticing her colleague limping past her.

He muttered something under his breath and dismissed the matter with just a wave of his hand. _I don't want to talk about it._ "Where's Mac?"

"On his way in," she replied. "You sure you're okay? Somebody stomped on your foot?"

He frowned as soon as he stuck his head in one of the lab rooms. _Where's Danny at?_ He stood up straight and turned around only to take a step back, startled to see Stella standing so close behind him, her shoes tapping on the linoleum floor. _What's with women today?_

Earlier, Lindsay had threatened to break his fingers off if he would not step out of the room just so she could focus on processing the evidence without any disturbance (he was only there because Danny was there). Apparently, Don had talked too much and she was not pleased that Danny had somehow abandoned what he was supposed to be doing and instead, was busy joking around with his dear friend.

Then not too long ago, while attending to a scene, a suspect (who happened to be a woman) had given him one tight slap across his face for the snide remarks. Or so she claimed. _She refused to cooperate,_ he reasoned with himself silently as he brought his hand to his cheek. _And it still stings._

Then just recently, right outside the precinct, on the sidewalk, by the street, right next to a cab, his ex-colleague and (sometimes psycho _and_ aggressive) female friend had gone all violent on him. Despite the fact that her heels were the cause of his limping and the pain and probably, the bruising later on, honestly, he found it strange that he missed of getting hurt by her.

_"Seriously, Don," Isabelle warned, "I wouldn't hesitate to hurt you back physically, emotionally and mentally. I swear I'll make you suffer one day."_

And what was his reply?

_"How do you make someone hurt mentally? I'm curious, Belle, honest."_

That had earned him a penknife being tossed in his direction, missing his head merely an inch before it hit the wall behind him and fell on the ground.

_"It will be your enormous head I'm aiming the next time."_

Stella leaned in closer to Don's face, scrutinizing him and wondered what was going on in that head of his. She snapped her fingers at him, satisfied that it got his attention. She leaned away from him and crossed her arms. "And when are you planning on telling me that Isabelle was here?"

He looked at her surprised. That was until he saw Danny smirking at him as he walked past with Lindsay, carrying a taped-up box. _He told her. _Stella continued. "And you made her angry?"

"That earned him a stomp on his foot with her heels," Danny informed over his shoulder. Don looked at him threateningly.

"Whose heels are we talking about?" Mac asked joining the two, eyes on the file he was holding.

"Isabelle's," Stella said the same time as Don said: "Nobody's." Stella gave him a look. Mac did not seem to hear though, which Don was grateful for and Stella, the otherwise.

"We found a matching DNA on the stiletto Natasha was wearing to the victim's blood. She's our main concern now."

"Well, let's go get her."

"Not that easy, Stella," Mac said finally looking up from the file. "She's nowhere to be found."

_Great, another woman hunt,_ Don thought, sighing, _a heels fetish, no less._

**X**

When Isabelle reached her apartment door on the top floor, seeing yet another box (which was smaller in size than Danny's) was not much of a surprise to her. She kind of figured she would be expecting these showing up randomly, for five times at least. _The fifth is Sheldon._ By now, she had confirmed that the dream _was_ indeed a dream but it was a dream with a message:

_I haven't really got enough time to return all the borrowed things back to their owners._

She knew she ought (like most people would react) to be freaking out by now considering that she had no idea from whom or where these boxes came from but at the same time, it was not that weird or strange at all because somehow she understood that these were the boxes containing all those borrowed things that Aiden had—presumably—wanted to return but was already too late. _She didn't return me my novels and DVDs. _Not that it mattered now.

She sighed as she crouched by the box, looking momentarily at it before turning it around—again, with much difficulty because all of the boxes just had to be _heavy_—to see whose box this belonged to this time: **BONASERA**.

She opened her apartment door and slid Stella's box inside, right next to Don's. She stared at his box, reminding her that he was still the same old Don who managed to get on her nerves every time.

Her cell phone rang obnoxiously loud shortly after from inside her purse. Without giving her any chance to greet, the person on the other line said hurriedly: "What's the meaning of this, Belle?"

She could only frown at that. God knows for how many times she had frowned in a day. "Care to elaborate, Danny? What do you mean?"

Danny emptied the remaining contents of the box, which after every item, he frowned more and more, head filled with questions. "I mean what I mean, Belle: what's the meaning of this? These are the things…I never thought I'd see again. What's going on?"

"Would you believe me if I say Aiden wants me to return them to you?" she said quickly, making her way into the kitchen. She waited for him to talk. _Fat chance he'll believe me._

"Should I believe you?" he asked slowly, as if afraid that if he happened to choose the wrong words, she would start screaming. _Or stomping with her heels, _he thought, smirking at how Don had been complaining about his foot aching. "She's gone, Belle."

She nodded though he could not see her. "Then it's just those things that she borrowed from you which I borrowed from her and now I'm returning them back to you because I don't want them to take up space in my apartment."

It took him a moment for it to register into his head. He laughed. "Okay, look, I don't know what's really going on with you but this is really strange, okay? I'd understand if you borrowed my CDs but what could you possibly want to do with my _shirt_?"

"You left your shirt with Aiden?" she feigned a gasped. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha, very funny."

She chuckled noting his annoyance in his voice. "Hey, you're not going to believe me with the story anyway because, well, it's going to sound completely impossible, crazy, strange, weird…whatever you want to call it. She wants me to help her return the things she borrowed. That's all."

Again, he was quiet. "I don't know what Miami has done to you," he finally said, "but it's hard to believe you with that. I mean, things don't just appear out of the blue, especially when the last person they're with is already gone."

"Believe me, Danny, that's what I thought." She poured herself a glass of cranberry juice and helped herself to it. "And I still have Stella's and Don's box to return."

"Hmm," he mused. "You have Don's box with you? This should be interesting. I'd like to know what you'd do with it."

_Something, maybe, _she thought evilly, suppressing a smile as if Danny would be able to sense it and could immediately know her thoughts and _then_, filling Don in on it.

**X**


	4. Starting Line

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**Four**

_"No," she mumbled as a reply before looking up at her and grinning. "Deal with it, Aiden." Aiden rolled her eyes before plopping herself down on the bed. Isabelle resumed on slotting the pictures in, which after every each slot, she wrote a little note to remember by. "So, what is it that you want me to help with?"_

_Aiden rolled her eyes. "Obviously you know I want you to help me return the things that I borrowed."_

_"I got that, Aiden. Tell me something I don't know."_

_Aiden appeared thoughtful for a moment, her index finger tapping on her chin and then as if a bulb had lightened up in her head after what seemed like an eternity trying to come up with a bright suggestion, she said, in all seriousness, "you could try being nice to Don."_

_Isabelle glared at her. "I _am_ nice to him."_

_"Try harder then."_

_"Why do I always have to be the one surrendering just so I can make things better?"_

_"Fine," Aiden huffed in defeat. "Then try not to kill him with your heels."_

**X**

"Heels, how many pairs of high heels you own, Isabelle? This is outrageous! And do something about this mess. What are these photographs doing on the floor? What nonsense is this? Oh dear God!"

_I'm dreaming._

Isabelle heard her curtains being drawn back, that annoying sound she hated, letting that annoying glare of the sun rays filtering through her bedroom window, and beaming on her face. She turned over, her eyes still closed, already cursing in her head and buried her face deep into her pillow.

"Isn't this Don? Oh, and this Danny. Oh this was the gorgeous Aiden."

_No, I'm not dreaming_.

She cracked an eye open. Of course when she opened her eyes, all she could see was the color lilac – her pillowcase. So she turned over, once again, and stared in disbelief at the woman who had seated herself on the other side of the bed. "Oh good, you're up. I made you breakfast."

"Ma," she groaned forcing herself up on the bed. "What are you doing in New York?"

Her mother looked back at her, feigning a hurt expression. "Why of course, I want to see my beautiful daughter. Do I need a legit reason to come to New York? You don't return my calls, you don't write to me – nothing. Are you trying to avoid me?"

"When did you arrive?" she asked, covering a yawn. "You could have called. Or at least inform me you're coming." For some reason, she was upset that her mother, who was supposedly to be in Miami, was on her bed, in her bedroom, in New York.

"And what, give you the chance to make up excuses to prevent me from coming? I don't think so, Isabelle."

Isabelle, who thought it was too early in the morning for her to start an unnecessary bickering-slash-argument with her mother, decided that it would be best if she got out of bed. With her mother already chirping like a bird, there was no use of trying to get back to sleep. _And someone insisted I go for a vacation._

"And why aren't you hurrying up? You're going to be late for work. What are all those boxes doing in your living room, anyway?" Isabelle suddenly remembered that her mother was yet to know she was…well, excused from work. _But that has to wait._

"Ma," she groaned again. "Please, throw me one question at a time. You're confusing me." _Seriously, who asks someone three, four questions in one breath?_

"There was a box," her mother started again, slowly this time as she made her bed. "Outside your apartment door when I arrived." That got Isabelle's attention. She turned around and waited for her mother to go on. "Who is Hawkes?"

**X**

Don was no longer limping like he had yesterday, though there were bruises to remind him that he had been stomped by a woman who had suddenly gone violent on him. He adjusted his tie while he listened to Danny talked—more like complaining—on the other line. He was not listening, really; he could not be bothered, especially at an early hour in the morning.

"Yeah, I'm still here," he reassured him as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Just one sip, he spat it out into his sink, grimacing. He had forgotten that it was yesterday's coffee and he was yet to make a fresh one. He glanced down at his wristwatch. He should have been out of his apartment five minutes ago. _No time for coffee._

"Hey, Danny," he intervened, grabbing his set of keys and twirling it around his fingers, jingling. "We'll continue this later." Without giving his friend any chance to say anything, he hung up and swung the door open and stepped out. At least, that was what he thought until he tripped over something, failed to hold himself up and fell to the ground with a thump.

_Whoa._ He blinked. _What just happened?_ It took him a few seconds for reality to set in before his hand shot to the back of his head, muttering obscenities under his breath. _That hurts!_

He slowly sat up and discovered what had caused him to fall – a box. He stared at it in disbelief. He somehow could not believe that there was a box sitting right in front of his apartment door and yet he failed to notice it the first time. It was even more disbelieving that someone had inconsiderately placed it there. What was even more disbelieving was the fact that the box bore a name.

Suddenly, he felt annoyed—or maybe, just _maybe_—enraged.

Getting to his feet, he dusted himself clean and dialed a number on his cell phone.

**X**

"What do you want, Don?" Isabelle answered the call. She heard him breathing and waited rather impatiently. Her mother, who was standing next to her fussing over choosing the 'fresh' red and green apples to buy, stopped immediately and smiled at her daughter.

"Oh, how is he?" she asked, still smiling. Isabelle felt like hanging up. "I have an idea. Why don't you invi—"

Isabelle pulled the phone away and whispered angrily at her, knowing what her mother was suggesting. "No, no way. The answer is _no_." Standing a few feet away from her mother now, she pressed the phone to her ear again. "Are you going to start talking? Do you _even_ have anything to say to me? Because I'm hanging up on—"

"Very cute, Belle, that was _very_ cute," he finally said. "_That. Was. Very. Cute._" He repeated slowly, word per word, barely controlling his anger.

_What was cute? _She thought.

"You want to play? _Fine_, I'll play with you but in the end—no matter how long it's going to take us—I'm going to make sure you _lose_ and then I'm going to make you apologize to _me_. You got that – loud and clear? Now I'm hanging up on _you_."

_He hung up on me! _She was gaping right about now, phone still pressed to her ear, listening to the line gone dead. _That jerk hung up on me! _She had no slightest idea what he was talking about. He talked way too fast for her to comprehend what he was saying and the next minute she knew…_he hung up on me!_

Did that mean war?

To Don, it was.

**X**

**sarramaks - Well, you already know the answer. Thanks!**

**demolished-soul - Well, thank you for reviewing. Stick around and we'll see where this goes. Thanks again! ( :**


	5. Ice, Coffee and a Box

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**Five**

"You _what?" _Lindsay asked incredulously, stifling a laugh as she handed Don a pack of ice which he then pressed it against the back of his head, wincing – from the sudden cold and pain. He rolled his eyes at her and positioned himself against the table in the break room, mumbling something about regretting of telling her what happened this morning.

She shook her head and turned away from him, still stifling that laugh which she was trying so hard not to let out. She was pouring him a cup of coffee (since he told her he had not had his morning coffee yet) when she lost the battle of suppress-that-laugh and made a mess. In such a way that the black liquid was not pouring _into _the cup but rather, all over the countertop.

Her laughter soon erupted within the room. She was laughing so hard that Don had walk over to her and grabbed the pot out of her grasp before she lose grip on it and making a bigger mess than she had already made. She bent over and laughed even more, tugging at the sleeve of his suit. "I'm…" she laughed, "I'm so, so, sorry…!" She looked up and met his eyes before she laughed again.

He could only wait for her to stop, and that went on for the next few minutes until Danny entered, looking in the direction at them both—and particularly focusing on Lindsay who was still tugging at the sleeve of Don's suit—weirdly.

"God, Don," she calmed herself down and stood up straight, wiping the tears away from the corner of her eyes. Her face was red from laughing too hard, he noticed.

"You done laughing?" he finally asked, bringing the cup to his lips and took a sip. It was not the best coffee served but at least it was not stale.

"How could you," she sighed out loud, grinning wide as she wiped the liquid clean. "How could you not see? That's…that's unbelievable." She looked over at Danny, noticing him standing there for the first time. "Good morning, Danny."

Danny nodded in return. "Montana, pour me a cup of coffee."

She would have objected but all the laughing had put her into a good mood. She was about to when Don beat her to it. "No, no, no," he swatted her hand away from reaching the pot. "I'll do it."

"I'm not going to spill it again," she told him.

"What happened to you?" Danny asked Don, referring to the ice pack against the back of his head. He smirked and said before he could stop himself: "Someone hit you – a woman in particular, right? She's got long wavy auburn hair, stunning bright green eyes, nice long legs and absolutely curvaceous."

Don could only stare at him with arched eyebrows. "Why do you always assume it's her, and how did you know about that?"

"Who?" Danny asked innocently.

"Isabelle, and how did you know about that?"

Danny's smirk turned into a wide grin. "And why do you always assume I'm talking about her?"

"How did _you_ know about that?" Don asked again with clenched jaws.

Danny's grin suddenly vanished from his lips, his expression somewhat shocked. "She hit you – for real?"

"No, not really. She thinks it's funny to place a box in front of my door." He took a sip from his coffee again and Lindsay started to laugh. "Really, if she wants to get back at me for whatever reason there is, I didn't expect her to be so stupid by leaving **DEFRANCO** on the box. She's letting me—"

"Wait," Danny held up both of his hands, "a box?"

"Yeah," Don nodded in return. "A box, why?"

"Cause I've got one, with her name on it. I told you on the phone earlier."

The two stared at each other, Don not knowing what to say and Danny trying to really understand what was going on.

**X**

Her day went by uneventfully.

After a good hour of just lazing around in her bedroom and then later, on the couch in front of the television and not really watching what was on, she switched it off, sulking. She was bored and the three boxes all lined up against the wall near her door was something she did not want to think about at the moment.

She had been ignoring the noises her mother was making in the kitchen who was busy preparing dinner. She heard pots clanking with each other, cabinet doors being opened and then shut, the knife chopping upon the board, the tap water running and the faint sound of _Sway_ playing in the background. Her mother always had to have music playing whilst she cooked.

_It's like a motivation, honey, _she would say to her.

Deciding that she could not let herself be consumed by total boredom, she got up and made her way towards the kitchen. Her mother looked up upon her entering for a brief moment before she looked back down again, stirring something in the pot. "You look tired."

"I am," Isabelle mumbled. "Do you need any help?"

She waited as her mother turned her back on her and grabbing something off of the countertop. She glanced around her once clean and infrequently used kitchen – it was a mess and she was disturbed by it. _She's not cooking; she's having a war with the utensils. _Her mother who had since turned back around caught the look on her face. "Don't worry. I'll clean the kitchen after this." She handed her daughter two onions. "Slice them up – thinly."

And that was the only conversation they had. Isabelle did what she was told to do but it was not only the onions as her mother had added various vegetables shortly after. Now she was regretting for offering to help; slicing was never fun for her. By the time she was slicing the squishy tomatoes, her mother started talking.

"How's Danny?"

Isabelle transferred the sliced tomatoes from the chopping board onto a plate and handed it over to her mother. Without turning around, she shrugged as her mother took the plate from her and proceeded on slicing a green capsicum. "He's fine. I just saw him yesterday."

"Don?"

The knife nearly slipped out of her hand at the mention of his name. She paused and gripped on it tighter before slicing it down the capsicum. "He's still breathing."

Her mother looked over at her suspiciously. "Is there something going on between you two that I should be aware of?" She did not answer immediately and waited until her mother urged her to say something. "Is there?"

"What are you implying, ma?"

"I'm not implying anything," her mother replied defensively. "It's just the way how you talked to him on the phone earlier and how you reacted when I asked you about him got me thinking."

"About what?" she had since stopped slicing and was facing her mother now. After a moment of silence, someone knocked on the door. _Better get out of the kitchen._ She no longer wanted this conversation to go on. Washing her hands clean, she made her way towards the door and opened it but…

…nobody was there.

She looked down the hallway to her right – empty. She looked to her left – empty. There was no sign somebody was recently outside. She stood in the doorway for a moment, confused, until she looked down.

You guessed it – another box. But this was much smaller. In fact, it was the smallest of the four she received. _Mac's, _she thought. Sure enough, when she bent down to pick it up, **TAYLOR **was scrawled on the box. Now that she had all five boxes—Danny's had been returned back—so that made it four boxes in total, she was going to return them all.

But she was hesitant.

_I need to start returning them back._

**X**

**So that was chapter 5. Not exactly how I want it to be but...oh well. I hope it's okay. Was the chapter okay? I don't really like it actually.**

**sarramaks - I'm glad that you find the chapters getting better. I'm just thinking what Don and Isabelle would do to each other now that Don has regarded it as "war". Hopefully the next update wouldn't take too long.**

**quiet-heart - Hmm...yeah. We are eventually going to find out why. So stick around. ( :**


	6. Speaking of the Devil

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream

**Six **

Danny told Don the story Isabelle told him on the phone the other night about her claiming that Aiden wanted her to return all the things she borrowed. He found it hard to believe it at first but not until he found a small note at the bottom of the box after he hung up that he believed it.

Danny recognized the handwriting so well that just one glance at it, he needed nothing more to prove it was Aiden's. There was even a signature signed at the end of the short message. It was bizarre, true, but there was this part of him already convinced that Isabelle's story was true and not a made-up one.

"And you don't find it strange?" Don finally asked after what seemed like an eternity of keeping quiet while Danny retold the whole story. "Strange because she had your box and still have Stella's and mine in her apartment which she's yet to tell me about and strange because she claims Aiden wants her to return our things _after_ her death. Unless she talks to ghosts, which I'm sure she doesn't, it's impossible."

Danny leaned back in his chair, pondering at his friend's words. What he said did make sense and true, it was strange, but again, right now, nothing seemed to make sense at all. Even Isabelle said so and there were just some things could not be explained.

"Like what, Danny? Tell me." Don insisted already growing tired of this _box-appearing-in-front-of-my-door_ issue. Speaking of which, her box was currently inside his bedroom and every time he went to bed, he felt like ripping it apart to see what was inside. After all, she did place the box there and it was heavy. Surely there was something inside.

Yes, he was yet to be convinced that Isabelle was not the one who placed it there and since Danny knew the whole story behind it, it was the reason why the both of them were at a bar instead of going straight home; to make Don believe it was not her.

"Isabelle's been gone for what, a year?" Don continued.

"Eight months," Danny corrected as he shrugged at the look Don was giving him and helped himself to his beer. "I counted, yeah, so what?"

"Okay," he paused, "so she's been gone for eight months and neither of us know what was going on with her during that period of time in Miami and she only left New York because she's mad at Mac for something and we also know she took Aiden's death hard. You know how close they were."

Danny nodded, staring ahead of him as he drank but did not really know what he was getting at. "What are you trying to say?"

"Don't you ever think of her maybe slipping into depression or a nervous breakdown or something alike to cause her…doing these things, claiming about Aiden wanting her to return the things and all those taped-up boxes? I'm not calling her a nutcase, I'm just saying."

"Are you trying to be a psychologist now?" Danny joked, chuckling.

Don rolled his eyes as Danny checked his wristwatch. They had been sitting there for half an hour and he had been waiting for someone to show up for ten minutes now. _She's not showing up?_

"So, Isabelle called me," he said. "She's got Sheldon's and Mac's box too."

"So?" Don asked, not really caring, and changed the subject. "Have you ever wondered what's inside her box?"

Danny stared at his friend. "What do I have to do to make you believe that it wasn't her who put the box there? It wasn't her fault that you fell on your back – that was your own clumsiness."

"Whose side are you on, really?"

"I'm not taking sides in your so-called _'war'_ with Belle, trust me."

Don would have said something after that but his eyes did not quite meet Danny's when someone walked over to them – a woman, to be specific. "Speaking of the devil," he mumbled and Danny elbowed him – hard. "Why did you invite her?" he whispered angrily.

"Hey," Isabelle greeted as Danny stood up and hugged her. "Sorry, I'm late." She settled herself down next to Danny and ignored Don.

"Nah, it's okay. What took you so long anyway?"

"Oh," she groaned and sighed, "my mother."

"She's here?"

She nodded. "Yeah, just for a few days." Danny nodded and nobody talked. Don shifted in his seat and looking everywhere else besides Isabelle. "So, you've got my box?"

"That's right but I don't have it with me right now. You want a drink?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, no, no thanks."

Danny stood up then and walked away to get himself another drink. This was the moment she was dreading for – alone with Don who, she had noticed, been shifting in his seat.

"You can't sit still, can you?" She bit her lower lip down as soon as she realized she said that. As soon as his eyes met hers, she looked away.

"You can't keep your mouth shut, can you?" he retorted, downing the remaining beer from his mug. "And I've got your box, too." She did not look back at him. She did not nod. In fact, she acted as if he had not said anything at all. So he cleared his throat and snapped his fingers at her. _That always pisses her off._

"Don't snap your fingers at me," she whispered indignantly as he looked back at him, obviously agitated.

He leaned in toward her over the table and replied meekly. "Then don't ignore me when I'm talking to you." It was then he realized that he was leaning in a little too than he should. His eyes dropped to her lips and back up staring into her green eyes. "Did you have a heavy make out session with some hot guy?"

She pushed him back onto his seat and pulled out a small mirror from her purse. She wiped off the smear on her lips and asked angrily, "yeah, you jealous?"

"Oh yeah," he sardonically said, "I'm so jealous. In fact, I feel like bashing the man up for—"

"Okay," Danny suddenly intervened before Don could finish. Isabelle looked up at him, expecting to see a beer in his hand but found none. "No time for beer. I got a call from Montana saying that she's got your box." Danny looked down at Isabelle when she did not move or say anything. She seemed a little confused there. Then it finally dawn on him. _She doesn't know who Montana is, stupid,_ he scolded himself. "I mean, Lindsay. She's got your box. Let's go."

She followed Danny out, Don walking beside her but keeping a good distance apart. He was just worried if Isabelle had this sudden urge of wanting to stomp on his foot again. He was not ready to deal with another one considering that the previous one was on the road of recovery. He looked at her footwear – slip-ons. _Just be cautious,_ he reminded himself.

"Montana?" she asked to no one in particular.

"It's a nickname. It's where she comes from," Don replied before he could stop himself.

"Did I ask you, Don?"

_She's an annoying bitch,_ he thought staring at her auburn hair, tempted to just pull a strand out from her head although he knew he would ended up pulling a whole lock. _That's even better. _He chuckled at the thought of how she would react to find one ugly patch on her head.

**X**

Danny flipped his cell phone shut and leaned back against the couch in Lindsay's apartment. He had just finished talking to Stella, who had called him saying that she received Isabelle's box. He had frowned at that. Don had received it, so had Danny, and now Stella, too? He wondered if Mac and Sheldon would be receiving one as well. It seemed that Aiden did it on purpose. If she somehow got those boxes dropped by the door, why could not she just have the right box given to the right owner?

_There's a reason why,_ he concluded, observing Isabelle and Lindsay who were sitting on the floor across from him, emptying the contents inside the box. It was the box that Lindsay received. He watched as Isabelle took out several books from it, a few compact disc cases and then later a balled up newspaper. "Found the note yet?"

Lindsay glanced at him and shook her head. "There's no note."

Isabelle shrugged at him and then tossed the balled up newspaper aside. As soon as it touched the ground, she found herself not moving; she froze and caught her breath. Lindsay looked at her with wide eyes. Obviously she had heard what Isabelle had heard. Danny who had then walked over settled himself down in between the two, facing the balled up newspaper. "Was that," he pointed at it, "was that glass shattering I heard?"

Isabelle suddenly found herself frowning.

"Oh no," she mumbled finally as she unwrapped it, dreading to see what was broken. What she saw was absolutely heartbreaking she nearly cried. It was a small piano made of crystal for decoration. The last time she saw it, it was…well, a very long time ago. Somebody bought it for her as a gift and because she was mad at him she had taken it away from her sight. She would have shattered it into pieces but it would be useful to give it to Aiden instead – as a gift.

Lindsay gaped at it not knowing what to say. It was not entirely shattered; miraculously, just two of its legs snapped broken but considering the look her new friend had, the crystal must have been from someone important. "It's…" she started off quietly, "it's still beautiful."

Danny, who saw Lindsay giving him a look that clearly stated for him to say something to make her feel better, nodded. "Yeah, Belle, it's..." he paused, "we can…" _can what! Buy her another one?_ "We can glue them back together," he finished it quickly.

Isabelle stared at it, with the same solemn look. "It's not going to be the same," she disagreed meekly and then a small smile crept upon her lips. Danny and Lindsay thought it was over until a tear slipped down her cheek before she wiped it away and chuckling softly. "It was a cold winter night," she began as she inspected the broken crystal. "He came over, knocked on my door and he just looked adorable with his cheeks turning red from the cold."

_She's telling us a story,_ Danny mused. _That's something she won't normally do._ "Then, what happened?"

"I invited him in," she continued, "said he's got a surprise for me and blindfolded me with a strip of black lace."

_Black lace, wow._ Danny cleared his throat and shifted in his position.

"But what's the point of blindfolding you if it's lace?" Lindsay could not help but asked.

"That's what I told him," she laughed. "He then left me alone for a moment before he guided me towards the window. I saw something glimmering."

"The crystal, right?" Lindsay smiled as she nodded.

"It was beautiful…" her voice trailed off and Danny sense the longing in her voice."…glimmering like that under the pale moonlight. What's even more beautiful was the kiss." Danny and Lindsay exchanged glances. "He's not my boyfriend, though. He never was." She looked at Danny and then at Lindsay before she looked down at crystal again. "It was just a kiss."

"Who's the 'he'?"

Isabelle frowned, remembering how he acted as if nothing happened. And before she could realize what she was about to reveal, it was already too late.

"Don."

**X**

**ilovemygelding - Aw...thank you so much! Hope you like chapter 6! ( :**

**sarramaks - Haha! I'm still wondering what she'll find inside. If she decided to open it, that is. –grins-**

**demolished-soul - Oh, I'm so, so, sorry! The stats showed there were 7 reviews but only 6 were available and yours wasn't there. I thought it was like a mistake or something. Now I know it wasn't. Well, I guess you have to wait to know why she's so hostile to Flack. It will be revealed...soon. Well, chapter 6 did reveal a little. But there are more to come. Thank you for reading! ( :**


	7. Stage One

**CSI: New York **

**sarramaks - **_Oh, sorry about that. I just, well, kind of assume that Danny would have already said that "there are things cannot be explained" so that was why Flack had asked that. I hope I'm making sense…or not. But it's okay. It is a mistake anyway. Never assume. Heh. Thanks for the review! ( :_

_**demolished-soul -** Yeah...well, according to Isabelle, they kissed. But read on and you'll find out soon. Oh, thank you, thank you, and thank you for reviewing my story! I appreciate it really. It makes me happy. Hehe. XD_

**X**

**Phantasmagoria **

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**Seven **

Don plopped himself down on the bed, sighing. He remembered how close he was leaning toward Isabelle, up to the point that their faces were merely an inch apart. He could still remember how she smelt – sweet and light. It was the same fragrance he would always smell on her. He could still remember seeing the sparkles in her eyes, like two sparkling emeralds, looking back at him. And her lips…he chuckled to himself. There was no smear at all but she rubbed at it anyway, tricked into believing him.

She was beautiful…but he found her too annoying recently. Not that he did not find her annoying when she was working with him the last time; she was, but it was tolerable. Now, she was just too annoying up to the point he wanted to throttle her.

His eyes somehow landed upon her box by his bedroom door. It was just then he realized that he was slipping down by the foot of his bed. Letting himself completely off of the bed, he crawled the remaining distance to get to the box itself.

His hands reached for the tape and he stopped. He debated. _Do I open it?_ He pulled his hands back. _Do I not open it? _His hands moved forward. He was just that close to ripping the tape apart. What was holding him back? He could just always tape it back and pretend he did not see anything, right? _Open, no? _He pulled his hands away once again but this time crawling away from the box. Then he turned back around. _Open it, damn it!_ He was arguing with himself. _No, I'm better than that. Looking through people's stuff!_ He scoffed. _Open it; you know you want to…_

The voice was taunting him more and more these past few days.

Then, as if it was a sign for him to just leave the poor box alone, he cell phone went off.

"Flack," he answered, rubbing at his shin which he had successfully and clumsily ran into the metal frame of his bed, on his way of trying to get to the phone. He was somewhat glad there was a call so he would not be crawling back and forth across his bedroom floor like a demented man.

"Listen, I know you weren't sleeping when you took this call," Danny blurted out. _Don kissed her? _He looked back at Lindsay's apartment door which was ajar. Isabelle had run out after spilling the beans; she freaked out. Apparently, she was not supposed to say anything.

And she did.

"I was thinking and debating," Don admitted.

Danny dropped himself back down on the couch, exasperated the minute he heard Isabelle muttering obscenities outside. "Isabelle's not really okay right now," he told him. Then there was silence on the other line. He waited for him to say something…and waited…and waited…and he could no longer bear the silence. "Were you just thinking about her and debating on letting me know about the crystal and the kiss? So the crystal is not that big of a deal, but kissing her?"

"Wha—" Don frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Isabelle, I'm talking about her, damn it!" If Don was frowning, he was laughing right now – hard. That made Danny felt like he was the biggest fool he had ever been in his entire life. "What are you laughing at?"

"You," Don caught his breath. "Why the hell are you even mad?"

Danny thought about it. _Why am I mad? _"I'll tell you why. You kissed her, Don. Need I to refresh your memory?" He mimicked him. "'_What makes you think I'm going to even **date** her?' 'Her, oh come on, I've got better taste than **that**.' 'She gets on my nerves.' 'She's got a mouth as big as a horse._'" Danny took a long deep breath before he screamed into the phone, "you _kissed_ her, damn it! That, I don't understand – _at all_!"

"Where did you hear that from?" Don demanded. He was furious on the inside but kept his voice calm.

"From Isabelle," he simply replied.

Don took that in – slowly. _Isabelle…Isabelle…Isabelle, _her name echoed in his head. _Isabelle…Isabelle…Isabelle…Isabe—_ One more time, he was going to go crazy. "WHAT? I didn't _kiss_ her – never been there!"

"Yeah, well, keep saying—"

Don tuned him out right then, dumbfounded. He never kissed her actually, _never_. He did give her the crystal as a gift but he did not kiss her. _Why would she say something like that?_ And he got this crazy idea of her lusting for him to make her say that. He could literally see the fire in her eyes every time their eyes met.

Then it finally dawned on him exactly what Isabelle was doing: she was playing his _'war'_.

…_she is not lusting for me._

And she had no intention of saying sorry either.

…_and the fire in her eyes is anger._

"I got to go and do something," Don blurted out almost immediately as Danny went rambling on and on. He hung up, walked over—not crawling anymore—to the box and ripped the tape away.

He might be debating earlier – not anymore.

**X**

Isabelle walked briskly, her heels clacking. She was heading for the office building, trying to push the feeling of guilt aside. It had been two days after that night in Lindsay's apartment, two days of feeling guilty and two days of wondering how she would return those boxes without running into Mac or Danny or Lindsay or Stella or Sheldon…especially not Don. Not at the precinct, anyway.

True, the crystal was from Don that she accepted and which was once placed on her nightstand. As for the kiss…well, that was the reason why she was guilty. He never kissed her. She did not know what made her say that; it just slipped. After all, he did say he wanted to 'play' and that he was going to make sure she lose and apologize to him.

Well, she was not going to say sorry or lose to him…without a fight.

She had no intention of making things easy for him either.

"It's nice to see you again, Isabelle."

She turned her head immediately upon hearing the voice. She almost wanted to break out into a sprint, away from him right then. She almost did, but did not. However, she did frown at him before breaking the gaze and continued walking without saying anything and pretending that she did not know him. "What, you going to walk away from me?"

"I am walking away from you," she stated as he caught up with her. "What do you want, Don? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He scoffed at the question. "Excuse me, but you did bring this upon yourself. You told Danny something that I know and you know that _we_ both know is absolutely not true."

She went quiet for a moment as they continued walking. She was thinking of what to say next. Don waited patiently for her to say something. As they crossed over to the other side, she suddenly remembered Emily was waiting for her arrival by the entrance and she did not want her to be seen with this tall man.

"Can you just," she stopped walking immediately as soon as Emily was insight and turned to face him. "Can you just go away?" she said unsurely. "Stop following me."

He shrugged. "I want to get even with you."

"Well now is not the time," she reasoned, glancing over her shoulders. Emily was looking her way. She turned to face him only to find out that his eyes did not quite meet hers. "Don, go, now."

He smiled down at her. "Why don't you introduce me to your friend, hmm?"

"Why the hell should I? Don, please just go."

"I looked into your box the other night," he admitted. "You cut the poor teddy bear up?"

"You looked into my box?" she exclaimed. "What rights do you have going through my things? The tape is there for a reason, Don! It's supposed to be sealed. I can't believe you did that—" he looked away and saw Emily approaching. "—that box is mine!" She took a deep breath and Don waited for to start again. "So what if I cut the poor teddy bear up? FYI, you're the cause of its—" _She talks too much._ "—dismemberment. I need to vent my anger out and the only thing that is worth venting out at is the stupid bear which reminds me—"

He silenced her with his lips.

He kissed her, in public no less.

She was numb then. She did not know what to do or how to react. She stood rigid in his arms, against his chest, looking at him with wide eyes.

_I talk too much._

**X**

**Um...not really how I wanted it to be but I hope it's okay. I've been rewriting this over and over because I find it dissatisfying. Sorry for the delay, by the way. I'm afraid I can't really update as frequent as I've been with producing the first six chapters. School has started and well, things are getting hectic once again. But I will update.**


	8. The FollowUp

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream

**Eight**

Isabelle had slapped him.

She could still hear the slapping of her palm against his cheek. She could still remember the look Emily gave. She replayed the scene over and over in her head. He did not flinch when her palm met his cheek. He did not blink. He did not say anything at all. He did not move. He just stood there before her, looking down at her with his blue eyes, staring. She could not read the emotion off of his face; he looked neutral.

Of course, she was furious, breathing hard. She stared back at him despite the stinging pain on her palm which she had slapped him with. She did not know she had given him a hard slap. She did not know she could ever slap him that hard – until today. She must have been really angry then.

Then the telephone rang.

It brought her back to reality and when it finally registered in her head, she found herself staring down at her palm, the one that met his cheek. She did not know why she was looking at it or why she was replaying the scene over and over in her head. Was she guilty for slapping him? Did he really deserve it? Was it rational of her doing that?

She did not know.

"Are you going to get that, dear?" her mother asked standing by her bedroom door with a broom. Isabelle looked over at her. "The telephone, Isabelle, it's ringing."

_Oh!_ She stood up from sitting in front of the computer and rushed over to the telephone on her nightstand. "Hello?"

"Hi, um, is Isabelle in?"

"Hello, Lindsay," she greeted, smiling trying to forget about the incident with Don. "What can I do for you?"

She laughed. "A lot, really. Um, about dinner tonight, Mac and Sheldon can't make it. You know Mac, he's always about work and work and he ends up being busy. Sheldon has got plans, so yeah. I just wanted to tell you that."

_What is this woman talking about? What dinner? _She tried to recall the last time she talked to either Danny or Lindsay. Did she ever mention about dinner?

"Are you there?" Lindsay asked after a moment of silence.

"Yeah," she responded as she saw her mother raced past her bedroom with a cloth. _What is she doing, anyway? _"Right, dinner…what time is it again and where exactly?"

"You're funny," Lindsay laughed, though Isabelle did not know if it was a forced one or sincere. So Isabelle laughed along with her. "Well, according to Danny who said according to your mother, dinner is at eight, your place."

_Mother,_ she thought, no longer smiling. She caught a glimpse of her mother racing past her bedroom again. It all made sense now – all the sweeping, dusting and cleaning. Her mother was having guests over...without her acknowledgement.

"Well, uh," she paused, "I guess I'll see you at eight then."

"Okay," Lindsay agreed, "I'm looking forward to meeting your mother. Danny told me some nice stories about her."

They said their goodbyes after that and as soon as they hung up, Isabelle stood up and went after her mother, whom she found hunching over a pot on the stove, singing softly to a song coming from the radio in the kitchen. She cleared her throat as she leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"You're having guests over?"

"Mm-hmm," her mother replied, nodding. "And the only reason I didn't tell you earlier because you'd disagree. I'm leaving tomorrow and I don't want to leave without seeing them. That Lindsay girl is such a doll – sweet and polite. And oh, Sheldon, I can't wait to meet him."

"Sheldon's not coming," she said. "He's got plans of his own."

"Oh." Isabelle could hear the disappointment in her voice as she continued stirring. "Well then I guess Mr. Taylor can't make it as well?"

"He's busy," she said bitterly.

The kitchen fell quiet then. Even the radio had stopped playing. The only sound could be heard was the boiling pot. She remained leaning against the counter, not knowing exactly why she was still there. Was she waiting for her mother to say something? Was she waiting for an apology? Or was she debating of confiding in her mother that she had slapped Don so hard that the incident was still fresh in her mind? _Well, it has been only a day. Of course it's fresh._

"Are you mad at me?" her mother blurted out, turning to face her.

She thought for a moment and then she smiled. "That's ridiculous. Of course I'm not."

Her mother was surprised by her answer. Not the answer she was expecting from her hotheaded daughter. "Are you sure? Don is coming, you know. I thought you said no the other time? You sure you're _not_ mad?"

She shrugged at her. "I can deal with that besides, I have got boxes to return."

**X**

Don sneezed for an umpteenth time at the table.

Isabelle could barely contain herself from revealing the smile. Before they arrived for dinner, she had snuck out of the apartment and ran her way down the hallway to Laquisha's apartment who happened to have a cat – a white Persian cat. Laquisha was determined of not handing her precious cat over but after a little bribing, she agreed.

Isabelle borrowed her cat since Don was allergic to it. She did that on purpose. It seemed that her plan was working.

Don sneezed again. He looked over at Isabelle, and then glared. He was annoyed, very annoyed.

Stella laughed at something Danny said and Isabelle's mother was too busy to notice that Don was sneezing more than he should. Lindsay could only glance at Isabelle and Don every now and then as she listened to all the stories Isabelle's mother was telling, the protagonist being Isabelle herself.

Isabelle, on the other hand, seemed not to realize about that. She was, well, busy glaring back at Don at the other end of the table. Otherwise, she would have protested and insisted on talking about something else.

Then something happened.

Don "accidentally" knocked his wine glass over. The plan was to just spill it on the table but ended up spilling on his lap instead. _Very smart of you, Don_, he mocked himself.

Everyone at the table saw that but nobody said anything. He was staring at Isabelle. He kept on staring and still, nobody moved or said anything. Everyone was waiting for somebody to say _something _or do _something. _But no one moved. They had stopped talking and he had stopped sneezing – for now. It was silent with the only sound of the clock ticking: _tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. _

It was annoying.

"Uh—"

"I got it," Isabelle cut her mother off as she excused herself from the table to get a cloth from the kitchen.

Everyone stared after her, excluding Don as he took a napkin and began pressing it on his pants. And then he stood up, "I'm going get cleaned up."

Isabelle was just about to walk out of the kitchen when Don appeared in the doorway. When he made it clear that he was not going to step out of the way and let her through, she took a step back.

But she ended up taking _one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eig—_her back met with the steel refrigerator door. He placed both of his hands on either side of her on the refrigerator door. He was standing so close that she could smell his cologne touching her nostrils, his warm breath pricking at her bare skin and his eyes locked with hers.

Her heartbeat quickened and her breath shortened as he leaned in closer, slowly. She shut her eyes as she felt their noses touching. He was going to kiss her, again. Maybe she would have to slap him one more time to remind him of the last incident.

But she did not want to slap him. _You want him to kiss you then? Feel his lips on yours, feel his touch that ignites the fire within you, roaming every inch of your body, hearing him moan—_

"I opened your box!" she blurted out, ducking under his arms and stood away from him, facing the sink, breathing hard.

This was awkward.

Don regained his composure before walking over to her and taking the cloth out of her deathly grip. He chuckled as she released it. "Found anything interesting?"

_There, he sounds neutral._ He was back to being the annoying Don. She was relieved but as she stood there, staring at the knife by the sink, she herself felt annoyed. Without giving any second thought she grabbed it and face him, the tip of the blade pointed towards him.

"_You,_ do _you_ always have to pretend that nothing happened? What was that back there? Why are you doing this to me? It's disturbing, Don, get it? It's _disturbing_ to see you act like nothing happened! So stop it before I stop you myself!"

He was tempted to just grab her wrist and silenced her again with his lips but with her holding the knife, _anything_ could happen. So, instead, he smugly said, "I challenge you to that." He smirked.

He smirked at her with that annoying smirk of his.

Slamming the knife down on the countertop, she grabbed a fistful of his blouse and their lips came colliding with each other. It was so sudden that Don actually lost his footing, tripped and fell, hitting his head against the cupboard doors on the other side.

She broke the kiss as soon as she found herself sitting on his lap as he held the back of his head, rubbing at it. He was groaning. If she was angry just a few moments earlier, she was not anymore. In fact, she was grinning down at him, chuckling. She found the whole thing hilarious.

"Are you okay?" she asked sincerely, laughing softly trying to keep it down.

He sat himself up a little better but she did not remove herself from being on his lap. He did not mind it anyway. "Why am I always the one getting hurt?" He did not expect her to answer.

"That's because you're clum—"

"_Oh my God_" someone exclaimed. "_What on earth are you two doing!"_

**X**

**demolished-soul **– _Hehe. Thanks. I hope you didn't squeal like you did on the previous chapter since, well, you know, Don tripped and all. But if you did, then well, I'm happy for you! XD. _

**sarramaks **– _Oh, okay. Thanks for the advice. No I don't find you picky at all. I understand. ( : And I'm glad to know you enjoy this fic. Hope chapter eight was fine!_


	9. One Little Lie

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**Nine**

"Don."

He ignored her voice.

"Don."

He shut his eyes, pretending to sleep, willing for her to just go away.

No such luck.

"DON, GODDAMNIT! WAKE UP! I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!" She was shaking him hard that his whole bed moved. She was angry. Her fingers around his shoulders were a deathly grip that he knew it was going to bruise if he refused to open his eyes any minute now.

_This woman sure can grip!_ So he had no choice but to open his eyes and pushed her away from him. "What do you want, Aiden!"

She sat herself in front of him on the bed and smiled innocently. "I want to talk. Can't a friend talk?"

"You're _dead_. You're not supposed to t—OW! Don't slap me!"

She shrugged back at him. "That's what you get for being insensitive."

He scoffed. "I'm not insensitive."

"Yes you are," she argued.

He rolled his eyes. "Is that it? That was what you want to talk to me about? To tell me I'm an insensitive jerk? Okay, you got your message across. I got it. Now go back to wherever you came from because I need my beauty sleep."

He slammed himself back down on the bed and pulled a pillow over his head before he heard, "You're too vain."

"Go back to your grave!" he screamed from under the pillow. "Go ho—"

She had lunged herself on him, ripping the pillow away from his head. Slapping him again across his face, she leaned into his ear and screamed, again. "I AM NOT FINISHED, DONALD FLACK! YOU ARE SO ANNOYING, DO YOU REALIZE THAT?"

He rolled her over so now he was on top of her, pinning her down. "I told you not to slap me, didn't I! You women are psychos!—fucking psychos!"

"You're mad," she giggled.

"Of course I am! I've been slapped four times now!"

"Whose are the other two from?" she asked, grinning.

"I don't have to tell you," he mumbled, letting her go and lying back down on the bed, next to her. "You know it, anyway."

"So that brings me to Isabelle. You see, the problem with her is," she propped herself up and looked at him, "she's confused with her feelings. There are times she hates you so bad she wants you dead. There are also times she loves you that she regrets she ever hurt you intentionally." She sat up and smiled at him who looked back at her, confused. "Go make things right, Don. Only you can."

"Me?" he sounded pathetic asking her that.

She nodded. "Only you can make things right because it was your fault and don't you dare argue with me on that. Oh before that, I need your help to help her return a box. You know him." She stood up and stretched. "Now, I'm going to go and leave you alone – for now. And oh, you better help her return that box or I'm making both of your lives miserable."

"Wait, who's the 'he' we're talking about here?"

She smiled and slapped him again. "Aw, that was _fun_!"

Don woke up startled in bed, holding his cheek. He felt her hand. _It stings!_ _I can't believe this! _He got slapped when he was awake by someone who was alive, which was not that bad. Now, he got slapped when he was asleep by someone who was actually _dead_. She even threatened to make his life miserable, too.

"Why can't the dead just stay _dead_?" he mumbled, moving to get out of bed only to realize that his legs got all tangled up with his sheets that he ended up falling on the floor – again, hitting his head.

_I'm too damn tall._

**X**

Isabelle opened her door after several thunderous knock. She was about to yell at that person about a thing called patience but found out that she needed not to. It was Don after all. He would never understand. So she waited for him to say something.

"Did you receive a box?" he asked, making sure her hands was out of reach for him, in case if she decided to give him another slap. His eyes went down her legs – barefooted. That was even better.

"I'm up here," she snapped. He looked back at her. "Yes, I did."

_She's angry,_ he thought. _No, pissed off. _He sighed. "Oh, come on, it was just a little lie. Would you rather I tell her you kissed me and we fell because you're just that aggressive?" He crossed his arms, looking at her.

"A little lie?" she repeated, looking at him with arched eyebrows. "That little lie of yours has got my mother planning it all out. You know what she was on about all night?" She opened the door wider and pulled him in. "She was picturing about how our engagement party would be like and how big and fabulous our wedding is going to be. She was already suggesting a specific number of grandchildren. How many you ask? She wants four annoying kids running around. I can't even stand you and I have to endure four spawns of Flack? You've got to be kidding me! I'd end up killing them—"

"Belle, you talk too much."

"—all before I drop dead! All thanks to you and your stupid little lie! _You_ could always come up with something else rather than saying we're _dating_!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know if Danny was going to tell everyone in the next thirty seconds!" he snapped. "I was trying not to embarrass the both of us!"

"Just say you fell—"

"That doesn't explain how you end up sitting on my lap." He knew that he had won when her face softened, looking as if not knowing what to say. So he changed the subject. "Alright, listen to me, where's the box?"

"Behind you," she mumbled. "You know any Pearce?"

**X**

"Wait, wait, wait," Isabelle stood in front of Don, blocking the elevator entrance. They were at the apartment building of Jason Pearce – the owner to the box and also the man that Don met once. He had told her that Jason dated Aiden a _long _time ago. "So, they dated and she didn't say anything to me?"

"Isabelle, you're really annoying." Pushing her out of the elevator, he gestured her to walk down the hallway. "Quit pestering me about that. Maybe she didn't want you to know."

_I feel so loved, _she sardonically thought, walking straight down the hallway until she was yanked back to standing next to Don who was already knocking on a door.

"You could have just called me," she mumbled bitterly rubbing at her upper arm where he had gripped earlier. "No need to yank me back and forth."

"I don't want to waste my voice on you." He turned and looked at her. "Okay, here's the plan. The door opens, we ask for Jason Pearce, leave the box with him and leave, got it? I don't want Aiden appearing in my dreams anymore."

"Seriously, she slapped you?" he gave her an annoyed look. "Alright, okay, I was just asking." When the door was yet to open, she knocked.

"Then I can return you your box. After that, I'm not going to bother you anymore. You can call up your mom, say we broke up. So she won't stay up all night fantasying about us being married to each other and giving her grandchildren. I can't stand four spawns of DeFranco, too."

"Jerk," she muttered as the door swung open, revealing a petite blonde donning only a bathrobe. It was obvious she was previously in the bathroom with all her hair plastered to her face. No wonder it took her long to answer the door.

"Yeah?" the woman asked.

_Yeah? What kind of greeting is that?_ Isabelle thought crossing her arms.

"Is Jason Pearce in?"

The woman scoffed at the mentioned name. "Are you kidding me? He's gone – for good."

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"He left New York, that's what I mean, mister." She looked at Isabelle and then back at Don. "What do you want?"

"Where can we find him?" Don asked, passing Isabelle the box, which she hesitantly took.

"Excuse me, but who are you asking me all these questions?" she snapped.

Don sighed. He was afraid he had to play detective even though this was not an official work. He showed her his badge. "Are you going to co-operate now?"

"He's in Miami," the woman sighed. "Is he in trouble?"

"No," he shook his head. "Do you have an address?"

"Yeah, give me a sec."

"Miami?" Isabelle whispered. "I'm not going to Miami."

"So am I."

They were quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she said, "Aiden is so going to slap you tonight."

**X**

**demolished-soul **– _Haha…with all the falling he brought upon himself, I think he needs more than just kisses for his head. He needs to see a doctor to make sure everything is all right inside there. XD Oh, I hope their little conversation in Belle's apartment has been cleared on who said that last sentence. Thank you for reviewing!_

**ilovemygelding **– _Yes, you did mention you love Isabelle. :D I hope the conversation they had has made it clear how they explained their 'situation' in the kitchen. Thanks for the review!_

**sarramaks **– _XD. I think I have an idea. Thanks for the suggestions! _


	10. Finding Jason Pearce

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**Ten**

Isabelle ended up going to Miami – alone.

It was not her idea; it was Don's, and she did not agree to it immediately after he suggested it. Why did she have to agree to it? After all, Aiden did come to him for help, not her. So basically, it should be him going to Miami with the mission of returning Jason Pearce's box; not her. In fact, she found no reason why she was even part of this. Even if the box did reach her, that did not mean she had to get involved.

She did not want to get involved.

She eyed the vibrating cell phone on her nightstand. It was bad enough that she got dragged into this, and now he refused to leave her alone by constantly calling and asking if she had returned the box yet. It had been two days now and he never failed to make those calls to ask her about it, and every time, she had to come up with all sorts of excuses about not being able to get a hold of him, not being able to contact him…and this time, when she answered the call, was no exception.

"That woman gave us a fake address," she lied, fiddling with the paper in her hands. It was the address, and it was not a fake one. She had gone to the house yesterday but the house appeared to have nobody at home. Furthermore, she did not bring the box along, so even if she knocked, and if he opened up, what would she say to this Jason Pearce?

Don sighed on the other line. He was in his hotel room. Of course Isabelle did not know that he was in town. He only decided to come because apparently, Aiden had made it clear to him that she was not kidding about making his life—both of his and Isabelle's life actually—miserable.

"It's fake, huh?" he asked, not believing her that she actually lied, despite the fact he had told her that Aiden had been slapping him the past two days. Was Isabelle enjoying that? He bet she was. "It isn't a fake address, Belle. You think I'm that stupid?"

She pondered for a moment. No, he was not stupid but he could be very oblivious at times, oblivious to people's reactions, to people's feelings. "You're an insensitive jerk, that's all."

He ignored her remark. "Look, you only have to return the box, that's all. I'm not asking you to go one step further by getting his phone number or meeting him in person. Just leave the box by the door, that's it. Is it that hard of a task for you to do?"

That was all he ever did: complaining and ordering her around. Sure she could do that, just leave the box by the door and leave. Sure the address was not a fake. Sure the house belonged to Jason Pearce, but what if he had moved out? What if he did not inform that useless blonde ex-girlfriend of his in New York? What if he was not even in the state?

Then that box would be left by someone who was not even related to him in any way, which then led to a serious problem for Don to deal: was Aiden going to keep visiting him if that ever happened?

"Hey, if doing that is so easy for you," she spat into the phone, "why don't you go and do it yourself? Better yet, since you know this damn Jason Pearce, why don't you return it to him in person instead of ordering me around doing this shit for you while you sit at your desk shaking your legs? If you make it sound so simple, go do this yourself."

"Has anyone told you that you talk too much?" he asked, "because you do. Don't answer that. Come and meet me—no, I'll come and meet you. Where are you now?"

"My mother's house," she replied slowly. "You're not in New York, are you?"

"So you're not that stupid," he said sardonically. "Go get ready because when I arrived, I'm dragging you along with me to Jason's. Don't forget the box too." With that, he hung up.

She stared at the phone, mortified. There was going to be a problem.

**X**

As soon as Don got out of the taxi, he felt like going back inside and have the driver drove him back to the hotel. Of course, nothing of such happened. Even if he wanted to get back inside, Isabelle's mother had already snaked her arms around his torso and pulled him in a really tight hug. He had hugged her back, but it was not Isabelle's mother that had made him wanting to go back to the hotel; it was the people who were making their way out of the front door – the family.

"Uh, Mrs. DeFranco," he whispered after she released him from her hug. "Did I come at the wrong time?" He looked at them; they looked back at him with smiles while a baby in a man's arms wailed out. He cringed at the sound. Listening to babies wailing out was not that pleasant.

Mrs. DeFranco laughed. "How many times do I need to remind you? Just call me Julia and no," she smiled, guiding him towards the front door, towards the people, "don't be silly. This is the perfect time for you to come."

And by perfect she meant that Don would be spending time with the rest, she meant he would be getting to know with the rest better, and she meant that she could introduced him to the family.

_As if I'm getting married to him_, Isabelle thought, glaring at her mother and then at Don from the window. She hurried back into the kitchen and wiped the plates dry while the black haired guy, whom her mother introduced to her as the best youngest chef in the kitchen at her restaurant, busied himself around the kitchen in preparing for today's lunch for the whole family.

It was no special occasion – just one of those typical days of family gathering thing. She was not that too thrilled about it, especially after realizing that Don was in town and that he was already inside the house. She could hear her mother's shrilling voice already gushing over something about Don, no doubt.

"Isabella is it?" the chef asked, looking at her with his hazel eyes when she turned to face him. "I'm sure that's not it, something like—"

"Isabelle," she corrected, smiling at him. He nodded at her, grinning sheepishly. She stacked the clean plate on top with the rest which she had been wiping earlier. "Anything I can do for you, Jake?"

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it back. He held a finger towards her and grinned. "So I'm not the only one with getting the names mixed up."

It was her time to smile at him sheepishly. Her mother had introduced him to her earlier but she did not quite register his name into her head mainly because she was still in the daze-like state from her deep sleep—or maybe because she was just too mesmerized with his physical appearance. What not with his vivid green eyes that stood out from the paleness of his skin, the velvety voice of his when he spoke, and the smile that was just too adorable that she could not help but take notice of his dimples…oh, that smile.

"It's Jace, not Jake," he laughed, turning away from her and walked over to the stove. "Anyway, I was just wanting to tell you about your skirt there," he gestured his head towards the white lacey material that hugged the curves of her hips, stopping just right above her knee that showed off her smooth long legs, whose feet donned a pair of matching white stilettos with black lace trimmings.

"What about my skirt? Is it hideous? Oh my God. It is, isn't it?"

Jace could not help but laugh at her sudden insecurity. "It's not, trust me. It's gorgeous." He smiled that annoyingly adorable smile. She stood still as he neared her and turning her around, so her back was to him. "But there's this one hideous spot down there." He grabbed the hem of the skirt as she looked over her shoulders. "May be it's the tomato sauce you helped me with just now."

"Oh," she said as she turned and faced him back awkwardly. _He's staring at me._ She took a step back and tossed the cloth on the countertop. "Um, I think I better go change."

**X**

"Maybe he has moved?" Isabelle suggested as Don kept on knocking on the front door. He did not turn around to say anything. He acted as if she had not talked at all. Frustrated that he had been ignoring her ever since they had left the house, she got into the car that her mother insisted of using and glared at his back.

It was nice to actually see him donning just a button-down blouse instead of in a suit. So she just sat there and continued glaring though few minutes later into it, her face had softened and was staring at him instead. She fiddled with the radio station, back and forth and then turned it off. She buckled up.

Don was heading back to the car.

He opened the door to the driver seat, which she was currently in and managed to frown as he unbuckled the seat belt for her. "I'm driving."

She hesitantly got out of the seat and brushed past him as she walked to the other side. "I told you he's not home. You've wasted your time knocking on a door to an empty house."

"No one's at home," he mumbled backing out of the driveway. "You told your mum we 'broke up', right?" She nodded. "She didn't believe you?" She nodded again. "She thought you were joking about it?" She repeated the same movement. _This can't be good,_ he thought. "Can you say something instead of nodding?"

"So, what now?" she asked.

"I guess we're going back for lunch."

And when they arrived home, it was not really lunch straight away. Don met Jace for the first time and the two stared at each other – for long, looking speechless and confused. The two looked as if they were having a staring contest. Julia stood not far from them and observed.

"You two know each other?" she asked but received no reply.

Isabelle struggled with Jason's box into the house. "Jeez, Don, you're such a gentleman. Could you at least please have some chivalry and help me with this?"

Don turned around and asked, "You know this guy?" He was pointing at Jace.

"Should I?" she asked slowly.

"This is Jason Pearce."

**X**

**I know. It took me long to get this posted. I apologize.**

**sarramaks -**_ :D. I guess it is._

**demolished-soul - **_Heh. No biggie. Long or short, I appreciate it!_


	11. My Only Love Sprung from My Only Hate

**CSI: ** **New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**ELEVEN**

Jason Pearce.

_This is Jason Pearce._

Isabelle could only stare at Don, then at Jace followed by her mother and then the whole ordeal start all over again like a vicious circle. _This is Jason Pearce._ She was stunned and frustrated with the whole thing. Firstly, she could not believe that Jace was the Jason Pearce she was looking for. Secondly, he had been in the house the whole time and she had not taken the time to learn his full name. Lastly, she had wasted her time driving to his house; knocking on his door and then driving back home only to realize that the man was at her mother's house, in the kitchen, preparing lunch for the family.

She felt like screaming.

"He was here all morning," she started off slowly and steadily looking at Don. "Didn't you see him on your way in? What, you've got some eyesight problem?"

Don turned his body fully around so he was facing her, looking not pleased at all. "Don't blame me on this," he said. "You were here two days ago. Didn't you at least know his full name?"

Julia glanced at Jace with a questioning look. All she got was a shrug from him. So apparently he had no idea why he was the main subject here of their uprising tension. "They're always fighting like this,"she whispered to Jace as Don neared her daughter. "I can only pray they won't keep this up when they settle down."

"I came to know his existence only this morning," Isabelle whispered angrily looking up at him. "See, if you would've come earlier, we didn't have to waste our time, and gas, polluting the air, driving back and forth because _he_ is right there, _behind_ you!"

"There you go again," Don sighed deeply, lowering his head a little.

"There I go where?" she spat. She was just that close to stomping her heels down on his shoes again. "Blaming everyone else instead of you – you talk and talk and talk but never take responsibility," he taunted her. "I don't like women who can't take the blame for themselves."

She placed her hands on her hips, infuriated. "Excuse me, Donald Flack Junior. I do take responsibilities; I do take the blame for myself, only if I know I'm in the wrong, which in this case, I know that I'm not."

Jace turned to Julia. "They sure do argue a lot, huh?" She nodded. "How long will this take?" He glanced over his shoulders seeing everyone already seated at the dining table.

"So you're telling me I'm in the wrong – that I should take the blame?" Don scowled at Isabelle. She was so intolerable. He wondered how Danny handled her.

"Isabelle, Don—"

"I didn't say that, Don," Isabelle held a finger up to her mother to signal her not to speak just yet; she was not finished with him. "I know that I'm not in the wrong but that doesn't mean—"

"Well, you sure as hell make it sounds like it," he intervened, grabbing Jason's box. "This conversation is over." He turned around and walked towards the owner of the box. "From Aiden," he simply stated as Jason slowly accepted it. He turned to Julia and looked at apologetically. "I don't think I'm staying for lunch. I've got something to do."

Isabelle watched as her mother's expression showed a hint of disappointment. Right then, she felt guilty. She was the reason why her mother was upset. She was the reason why Don was leaving – not that she cared at the moment, but if it involved her mother, she would feel terribly, outrageously and annoyingly guilty. She was just that careful with her mother's feelings.

As Don walked past her, she called out to him. He did not stop nor did he turn to glance at her, like expected. Guilty, she swallowed her anger and dashed out the front door, catching up with him. She managed on wrapping her fingers around his wrist and turned him around—which she failed in doing so miserably. So she stomped in front of him and held his face in her hands.

"Stay," she said firmly looking into his eyes she was trying so hard not to get lost in, as clichéd as that sound. He had the gorgeous pair of blue eyes that she could stare at for long. "Not for me; for my mother."

For a moment there, she saw a glint of hope that he would turn around and headed back into the house but when his hands reached up to hers and pulling it away from holding his face, she knew it was not worth trying. He was stubborn as a mule. She knew that.

He brought her hands down slowly back to her sides, eyes still locked on hers. _I'd stay if it was for you._ The wind was blowing hard as they stood outside. He knew she was disturbed by her auburn hair being disheveled by the wind. He could see it on her face, and the longer they stood like that, the more she was frowning. Tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, he brushed past her without saying anything.

"Don!" she called out again after him but this time, she did not go after him.

**X **

Danny listened intently as Don talked over the phone, every now and then stealing glances at Lindsay who was sitting across from him, shoving salad down her throat. He brought the glass of water back on the table, checking the time on his wristwatch.

"That's normal," Danny shrugged. "You guys fight, bicker, shout, argue, and hurt each other. The list just goes on. That's nothing out of the ordinary. I mean not between you two."

Dan splashed water onto his face in the hotel's bathroom. Danny was right; the argument about Jason's box was nothing out of the ordinary. It was normal between Isabelle and he; they did that frequently. It was like part of their friendship (if theirs could even be considered as a friendship).

"You're right," Don agreed wiping his face dry. "But it feels like this is our first real fight, you know? We weren't taunting each other or bickering. It was…real. No one wanted to take the blame."

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. "What the hell is going on with you two? You tried killing each other before, then you said you both were dating, and you told me recently you guys broke up—" he sighed. "I know I took that dating issue a little too serious; I should have known it was one sick joke."

Lindsay stood up and he looked at her. She mouthed the word _restroom_ to him before she walked away.

"What are you trying to say?" Danny continued.

"I'm falling for her?"

"That, I know."

"But I can't stand her?"

Danny chuckled. "_My only love sprung from my only hate_."

**X**

**demolished-soul** – _Hm, nope, Aiden didn't show him anything. I did mention somewhere in chapter 9 (if I'm not mistaken) that Flack met Jason once. Flack knows him. So…yeah, that's how he knows. ( Thank you for reviewing!_


	12. Doll or Ball?

**CSI: New York **

**Phantasmagoria **

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**TWELVE **

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, dropping her gaze down to the floor.

Don rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and covered a yawn. He blinked a few times to better his blurry vision and looked at her stonily. "It's eight in the morning, Belle," he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe sleepily.

She nodded, clearly aware of what time it was. "Don," she called out meekly, her voice soft and gentle – and alluring too. He looked up just in time to see her covering up the gap and brushed her delicate fingers across his cheek, past his ears until her fingers were lost in his dark mane at the back of his head. She tugged at the waistband of his pants that he had slept in last night and pulled him up against her. Almost seductively, she brushed her lips against his ear and whispered,

"My only love," she breathed into his ear, kissing it, "sprung from," she kissed his jaw before she moved to his face, her hot breath pricking at his skin, "my only hate." Slowly, ever so slowly, she placed her lips upon his. It was a kiss of bliss.

If only it was not a dream.

He found himself groaning at the sound of his hotel room door being knocked upon. He bolted up right in bed, wondering if he had been dreaming of what he thought he just dreamt. _My only love sprung from my only hate._ He frowned at that. It was Danny's fault. He had said that, and Don had his voice echoing in his head late last night. _My only love sprung from my only hate._

The knocking became louder.

He walked over to the door and opened up immediately. He stumbled back when he saw Isabelle – because of the dream earlier. She looked at him strangely. "Isabelle?"

She lowered her gaze to the floor and sighed. "I'm sorry."

He blinked and thought of what to say next. She returned her gaze back on him when he did not say anything. That only made her more anxious. "Don, come on, I said I'm sorry."

"About," he cleared his throat and pushed the dream aside from his mind, "what?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "About yesterday, I'm sorry, okay? My mother's not talking to me right now because her 'soon-to-be son-in-law' did not stay for lunch because of her daughter which she claimed had acted a little immature for her age. She said I should be willing to compromise and guess what, I agree on everything she said about me. So I'm taking the blame and apologizing to you. I'm _sorry_."

He shrugged at her, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm not accepting your apology." He watched as her lips formed into a frown. "It's only because there's nothing for you to apologize about, Belle."

"I need to bring you home with me," she blurted out. "She went ballistic on me when she found out you're staying at a hotel. I don't understand. I'm feeling guilty right now, so grab your bags and we'll drive home."

"I thought she's not talking to you?"

She invited herself in. "That was before the Jason thing happened."

**X**

Lisa, a bubbly, friendly and a very demanding child of six year old sulked in her chair at the table next to her favorite aunt. Though, at this point of time, she was the least favored person in the entire world. Lisa wanted to play with her, wanted her all to herself. She wanted to show her new beautiful Barbie doll which she named it Isabelle, but her aunt was just too engrossed having conversations with the adults.

When she saw her other cousins running past the dining table with several toys in hand, she felt this sudden pang of jealousy. There they were having fun with each other while she sat there sulking, alone, waiting for her aunt to play with her. She had vainly declined their invitation to play with them because she wanted to play with only her favorite aunt.

"Aunt Belle," she whined out loud, head looking up at the corniced ceiling while she kicked her legs under the mahogany table. "Can we go play now?"

Jace glanced at Lisa and flashed a smile but was surprised when she glared at him instead, crossed her arms and looked away with her head held high. Don who saw her gesture laughed. Isabelle looked down at her.

"Lisa, sweetie," Mel, Lisa's mother spoke up. "Why don't you play with Brianna? She's playing with dolls, too."

"Yeah," Isabelle agreed, nodding at her. "You go play with her first, and then I'll come and join you two."

Lisa did not say anything nor did she move; she just sat there in the chair, not moving a muscle and sulked even more. She even had tears in her eyes. Isabelle sighed, again, feeling the guilt eating on her insides. She did not really want to play doll with Lisa because it was just stupid. Do not get her wrong; she loved Lisa, it was just the idea of mimicking voices for the dolls that just made her feel…pathetic. The whole thing was pathetic.

Of course, Lisa did not know about that; no one did. Well, except Isabelle's mother.

"I'll play with you," Jace offered suddenly, downing the remaining water from his glass. He could feel eyes on him when he said that but that did not bother him. Seeing that Lisa was looking at him with that sulking face of hers, he smiled at her again. "Come on; let's see that doll collection of yours."

"I want Aunt Belle," Lisa mumbled, sniffing.

"Well," Jace leaned forward across the table. "Aunt Belle can't play with you right now."

"Why can't she?" She looked up to Isabelle. "Are you sick? You look a tiny weeny pale. But you've always been pale; just like momma, and you're not coughing or sneezing at all. You don't look sick to me, so I don't think you're sick but you may be sick; it's just that you don't know that you're sick. But you look tired though."—she took a deep breath in—"You must be pregnant then?—"

Mel dropped her fork, Don choked on his drink, Julia had stopped munching on the food in her mouth, Jace looked amused and Isabelle stared at her blankly.

"—because when momma was, she looked just as pale and as tired as you are. She didn't want to play with me because she said she'll get tired and it's not good. Am I going to have a baby cousin? I would like a baby cousin."

It was silent then.

Julia spoke up. "Are you—"

Isabelle turned to her in disbelief and cut her off with a firm and assuring tone: "No, ma, I'm not." She looked down at Lisa. "Let's go play doll." Lisa did not move. She looked at Jace, as if pondering. Isabelle frowned. "What's the matter? You don't want to play doll anymore?"

Lisa grinned suddenly, clapping her hands together. "Let's play ball with Jace!"

**X**

**sarramaks** – _Thank you_.

**demolished-soul** – _XD! Glad to know!_


	13. Two Grown Up Men

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**THIRTEEN**

Lisa laughed as Jace wrestled Isabelle to the ground. Don tried his best to act neutral, pretending that he was not bothered by the fact that Jace was all over her on the sand; that he was touching her everywhere and that she was not slapping him yet for that.

Don glared down at the back of Jace's head, also trying his best not to throttle Lisa so she would just stop giggling already (because there was nothing to giggle about) and stop jumping up and down (because he was greatly annoyed by it).

Yes, he was a very jealous man.

"Are you two done?" Don asked bitterly, sinking his toes deeper and deeper into the sand. Jace looked up at him from being on top of Isabelle. Oh how he felt like grabbing a fistful of his collar and tossed him far away from her. "You do know you're on top of my _girlfriend_, right?" he continued, exaggerating on the word that Isabelle suddenly remembered she was supposed to play his girlfriend.

Lisa had stopped giggling and jumping now that she sensed her Uncle Don was radiating off his anger. Isabelle chuckled at Don as Jace helped her to her feet. "Relax, Don," she patted on the back of his shoulder. "It's part of the game, remember?"

"Yeah but he was all over you," Don hissed at her as Jace busied himself playing with Lisa for a moment until they finished talking. "He was touching you everywhere. Now that isn't part of the game! I don't like the way he's looking at you, I'm telling you _right_ now." She stared at him as he calmed himself down. "And you seem like you're enjoying it and could you please stop looking at me like that? I mean, not that I'm restricting you from having fun but what would your mother say rolling around on the sand with _him_ in the presence of your '_boyfriend_', no less! And what would she say about me then? She's probably—"

"You're jealous," Isabelle laughed.

"—going to think that I don't pay attention to you and that I don't care about what you do—"

"Don, shut up," she said.

The four of them formed a big circle again, ball in Isabelle's hand. They were playing a game of tag with the ball in such a way that if the receiver of the ball failed to catch it, the thrower would have to chase the receiver around and try to wrestle him/her down. Isabelle, again, thought that the game was pathetic but at least it was better than playing doll. She was about to throw the ball to her unexpected receiver which was Don when Lisa just had to exclaim: "Let's have a dog pile this time!" She clapped her hands excitedly and nodded vigorously. "Yeah, everyone wrestled the receiver down!"

Isabelle frowned a little. If she threw the ball to Don and say if he failed to catch it, then he would have no trouble running away from her with those long legs of his. _Not fair, _she thought and immediately threw the ball in Jace's direction who was not really expecting the ball to be coming his way. As expected, Jace failed to catch it and had immediately taken off in a sprint before Isabelle did with Lisa not too far behind. Don watched as Lisa attempted to wrestle Jace down but ended up falling upon the sand.

"You okay Lisa?" Isabelle asked running back to her, Jace being momentarily forgotten.

"Ugh," the girl made a disgusted face. "I think I have sand in my mouth."

Isabelle laughed, helping her to sit up; oblivious to the fact that Jace was running towards her. "Aw, go on. Spit it—" She felt the wind knocked out of her when Jace had wrestled her to the ground – hard. "Not…fair," she struggled to speak. "God, you're—" she stopped short when Don suddenly rammed himself into Jace's side and ended up rolling on the sand until they were merely an inch away from the shoreline. Isabelle watched in surprise at the two, mumbling something inaudible as the waves wetted Jace's black mane. She glanced over her shoulders to see Lisa. "I was just telling you to spit it out. Have you spit it out?" Lisa shook her head. "Go spit it out then. Stay here."

"It was just a game," Jace reasoned with Don quietly. "What are you getting all worked up for? What's wrong with you?" Isabelle's head suddenly popped into his line of view, the waves hitting his head once again. "Hey, Belle, your boyfriend has a little issue with—"

"Shut up," Don harshly said, pulling him up by the collar before slamming his back down on the dampened sand.

"Jeez, Don," Jace spat holding his head. "Stop doing that. I have a headache al—"

"I said, _shut up_!" Don repeated the gesture.

"Don," Isabelle scolded prying his hands off of Jace. "Let go of him." When Don made it clear that he was not going to—because he was staring down at Jace returning the same intense stare Jace was giving him—she bit at Don's arm. He released his grip on Jace almost immediately, looking at her after that. "I told you to let him go but you didn't listen," she supplied before he could ask why.

"Come on," she said to Jace, offering him her hand. Don walked away first, grabbing Lisa's hand on his way back to the house. Jace dusted himself clean and glared daggers at Don's back. "You're not hurt, are you?" she asked as she tried keeping up with Jace's pace of walking. Before she knew it, Jace had taken off into a sprint and wrestled Don down to the ground. Isabelle stared in disbelief as the two struggled against each other, shouting at the same time about two different things. _Oh my dear God. _"Jace!" she exclaimed, running towards the two grown-up men to break them apart – again.

**X**

"Knock it off," Isabelle grumbled as the bed moved again. She buried her face deeper into her pillow, exhaling heavily. "I'm trying _really_ hard to sleep here, Don." The bed moved again as she felt him tossing about in bed, trying to find that comfortably right position for him. She waited for him to stop, her patience running thin. She glanced over at him, peering over the so-called barrier of pillows that she had built to divide her side and his side of the bed. "Are you asleep yet?"

It was his turn to grumble. "I can't sleep like this," he complained sitting up and switched the lamp on. "It's stuffy here. How can you sleep like this? Why did you even bother building this barrier thing? I'm not an infectious disease to separate your side and my side of the bed."

Isabelle sat up. "What? Wait, hold up. Now, I didn't say you're an infectious disease – don't you make up stories like that."

"Fine," he spat, "it's not like I'm going to rape you in the middle of the night. It's not like I'm going to impregnate you without this barrier in between. My point is, this barrier here is unnecessary, get it?"

"What is it that you want, Don?" she bellowed, frustrated. "What do I have to do to make you_ shut up_ and go to _sleep_ so that you won't wake the whole house up? What is it, Don? Tell me because I really do want to go to sleep."

"What I want is what you don't want," he said getting out of bed, "Which is to have this barrier gone because it's taking up my much needed space for a good night sleep. Get the picture, Isabelle?" He started tossing the pillow barrier down on the bedroom floor. "I want it gone – just gone. End of story."

She got out of bed shortly after and stomped over to the tossed pillows and grabbed one of it. She tossed it back on the bed. "I don't want the barrier gone," she said in a firm tone. She grabbed another one and tossed it to him only to have Don tossing the pillow back on the ground. "Didn't you hear what I say?" She tossed another pillow. "I don't want it gone!" He tossed it back on the ground, and another, and another, until there was no more to throw. "Would you stop that?"

"I want it gone," he argued.

"Too bad because I don't want it to."

"Stop it, Belle."

"_You_ stop it, Don," she shot back. "It's my bed, my bedroom, so it's my call. You're just sharing it; you don't own it and I say, for the very last time, I don't want the barrier gone. Get the _picture_, Don?"

"Would it be different if it was Jace instead of me?" he blurted out.

She rolled her eyes at him and sighed. "For the hundredth time, Don, please," she pleaded walking over and stood before his tall frame, "read my lips – I DO NOT LIKE JASON PEARCE. Not romantically. Why the hell are you reacting this way, anyway? Are you jealous? You must be jealous because if you weren't, then you wouldn't care at all. Really, Don, maybe you're taking the play-pretend thing a little too seriously. You need to step back and let me breathe."

"Look, listen to me," he said quietly looking down at her. "I just don't like the way—"

"—he's looking at me. Yeah, I know that; you told me. He's your friend, Don. How could you say such things about him? You're making him sound as if he's a bad guy."

"Well, maybe because he really is one," he raised his voice as she turned away from him.

"Yeah?" she asked sounding uninterested, walking over to the other side of the bed and slipped herself under the comforter. "Well, goodnight."

Annoyed, he slid himself under the comforter and closed his eyes before he muttered, "he's been with a lot of women."

_What kind of man hasn't? _"Shut up," she mumbled trying to go to sleep.

"He cheated on Aiden, Belle," he said turning on his side to look at her back. She glanced back at him shortly after. "He cheated on her with Clara."

"_That _Clara?" she asked in disbelief.

"I went out with her for a few months before I found out," he chuckled. "Women these days," he said as an afterthought.

Isabelle sat up in bed in the poorly lit bedroom. "You _dated_ Clara Thompson, Aiden's neighbor? But she's got cats."

"Hey, I dated her; not her cats. Besides, at least she wasn't as aggressive and psychotic as you are. You're just plain downright crazy."

She smacked his face with her pillow. "I'm not crazy!"

"It's okay," he laughed. "I like just the—" he covered a yawn "—way you are. I'm going to go sleep."

**X**

**sarramaks** – _Don't worry; it will. ( :_

**demolished-soul** – _Yep, Lisa is definitely how you described her to be. She talks too much! ( :_

**ilovemygelding** – _XD! Thank you._


	14. Box Talk

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**FOURTEEN **

"So what did you find in my box?" Isabelle asked the moment Don returned to the table out in the backyard.

"What did you find in _my_ box?" he retorted before he grinned. He settled down in the chair next to her and watched as Lisa played with her cousins by the beach under the supervision of Julia and of course, Jace. "I found several DVDs, vampire-related novels, and of course the dismembered teddy bear I gave you," he laughed. "I still can't believe you actually cut it up."

Isabelle felt the blood rushed to her cheeks. She looked away immediately as soon as Don's eyes met hers. "Well, I was mad at you," she said sheepishly. "What was I supposed to do?" She watched as Lisa ran with the ball they had played the day before with Jace chasing after her, whom behind him was the rest, screaming and laughing all at the same time. "Stop looking at me."

Don laughed softly. "What if I don't want to?"

_Is he flirting?_

"What are you going to do?" he asked after a moment.

"What?" she asked looking back at him.

He smiled. "Back to your question earlier—what were you supposed to do? It took me half an hour trying to decide which bear you'd like, it took Aiden another half hour to come down and help me decide, getting in line to pay took me fifteen minutes, it cost me fifty-five dollars for it, another six dollars and fifty cents for the cab fare to get to your apartment, a minute—"

"I get your point," she cut him off, laughing, that he took note of all the time. "But it was the only thing that was huge to remind me that it was from you. So I cut it up – crying." He looked at her amusingly. "What, it was a nice bear, adorable and huggable and I was cutting it up mercilessly because I was mad at the giver. It wasn't fair for Koji."

"Koji?" he asked, feeling lost suddenly.

"I named it Koji," she smiled sheepishly. "Anyway, have you packed your bag? We're leaving tomorrow."

It amused Don how sometimes he found himself in a heated argument with a psychotic and extra aggressive Isabelle whom he loathed with all his heart and yet there were times he felt just at ease with her presence which he loved. It was one of those times when they would sit down and actually really talk without bickering or arguing or mouthing each other off.

And this was one of those times.

"Don't worry about me," he finally said. "I can just shove everything in at the last minute."

She shook her head with a small smile as she once again looked away. "Is that how you pack your bag—just shove everything in?"

"At most times," he shrugged, "yeah. Even if I did fold and pack everything neatly away, it's my mother who does it for me."

"You seriously need to learn to do things yourself," she remarked. "It's a simple thing to do. Even Lisa can do it."

"You sound just like my mother."

"Well, maybe you should just find a girl and settle down and let her do all the simple things for you in life." She glanced at him and smiled. "I know, I sound just like your mother."

"Did she possess you for a moment there?" he joked, drinking from his cup.

"You lovebirds done flirting?" Jace laughed as he settled down in the chair from across them, sweating and breathing heavily. Lisa screamed for him by the beach and he turned around. "I'm taking a rest!" He turned back around and unscrewed the bottle cap. "That Lisa sure can run." He drank from the bottle and looked at Isabelle. "Just like her favorite aunt. Maybe she'll be a detective like you."

"I'm no—"

"She's no longer a detective," Don informed Jace, cutting Isabelle off.

"Ah," Jace said, "how come? Is it because of Aiden?"

It had just occurred to Don that Isabelle never did tell why she quit her job at the crime lab before. He had tried asking Danny and Stella, even Mac but nothing much was revealed other than that Isabelle just wanted a change of air. He sensed that Isabelle was uncomfortable with the question asked and that she was quiet. Before he could say anything to change the subject, she shrugged.

"I just wanted a change of air," she said quietly fiddling with the silver bracelet on her left wrist. "Aiden was just part of the reason."

"There's another reason?" Jace asked, intrigued. He ignored Lisa's calling from behind him to start playing again. "What is it? From what I've heard from Aiden, you loved your job as much as she did. So it's quite surprising for me to know that you quit."

"I'm not telling you," she declared, smiling at him but looking serious at the same time. "Lisa's going to throw tantrums if you don't go there and join her now." Jace laughed and stood up but before he walked away, she said, "Never make a DeFranco wait too long. It will get _ugly_."

Don and Isabelle watched as he ran towards Lisa. After Don was sure he was nowhere near in earshot, he asked, "Do I get to know the other reason?"

She smiled almost sympathetically at him. "You should know, Don; you don't need me to tell you."

For a moment there, they sat in a comfortable silence with the sound of waves crashing upon the shore, the young children laughing out loud, Jace's voice screaming from the distant, and Julia's constant voice of worry for the children in fear that they would fall and hurt themselves.

Then Don decided to end it.

"How ugly will it get if I made you wait for too long?"

"If it's you then it'll definitely get beyond ugly," she chuckled. "You know I hate to wait, Don. You shouldn't ask at all."

He exhaled and shrugged his shoulders, "Thought maybe you've changed over the eight months." He smiled triumphantly to himself; he remembered she had been gone for eight months which Danny had amended him instead of being a year. "I guess not."

"You counted?" she asked feeling very amused. "I thought you didn't care."

"Why would you think of me like that? Of course I cared," he admitted. "I was going crazy wondering why you quit or where you had gone to. I thought you're lying dead in some stinky alley until Mac told me you left for Miami."

"Ah," she mused. "So Mac told you."

"He sure did. So what did you find in my box?"

Don had decided not to take it home the night when Stella, Danny, Lindsay and he came to Isabelle's apartment for dinner. He was sneezing so bad that he could barely take three steps forward without sneezing, all because of the white Persian cat. Stella, on the other hand, took hers home.

She grinned at him. "There's this one hideous looking tie. I seriously can't picture you wearing it; it's too hideous if you know what I mean. Oh, I didn't know you were a Michael Bublè's fan."

"It's in the box? I've been meaning to return it back to Clara."

"It's in the box," she assured him. "There's a basketball, a baseball with Danny's name on it—"

Don laughed at that. "I stole it from him. I wanted to know how long it'll take him to realize that it's missing."

She shook her head and muttered, "Immature. How come it's all with Aiden?"

"They're taking refuge in her apartment. And that hideous tie was a gift from Clara."

"She has such bad taste in choosing a tie for you," Isabelle commented.

"Are you saying you'll buy me a nice and a better one than Clara had bought for me?"

"No, I would definitely get you a nice and a better looking tie if I was Clara," she corrected. "But I wouldn't want to be her. I mean look at her. She's just too scrawny it's disturbing. Is she still living in the same apartment?"

"Not sure," he replied. "Are you sure that I should know the other reason without you telling me?"

She sighed. "Yes, I'm sure; positive."

"Well, can you give me a hint?"

She nodded before she stood up. "Yeah – you're involved." With that, she walked back into the house.

**X**

**demolished-soul – **_XD! The pillow barrier! Glad you like it!_

**sarramaks**_** - **Glad to know that and thank you for reviewing. : )_


	15. Drop Dead, Gorgeous

**CSI: New York**

**Phantasmagoria**

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

**FIFTEEN**

Two days after they arrived home, Isabelle knocked on the apartment door. She did not understand why she was so nervous; there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about. She was just returning the box and then she was going to get hers back and then she would head home. However, when the door opened, her nervousness vanished leaving her speechless and confused.

"Uh…Danny, hi," she greeted stealing a glance at the number on the apartment door. She got the right one but the person she was expecting to see was not exactly Danny. "This is Don's apartment, right?"

Danny looked at her blankly and in all seriousness, he asked, "do I look like Don Flack to you, Belle?" He took a sip from his black mug, the rich coffee aroma touching her nostrils. He shook his head. "Nope, this apartment belongs to some drop dead gorgeous guy named Danny Messer. You've got the wrong door, not to mention the wrong apartment building as well because there ain't any Don Flack here."

She stared at him, shifting the box to her other hand. "Okay," she whispered turning on her heels to head back to the elevator. Two doors down, she heard Danny laughed followed by his footsteps.

"DeFranco," he called, grinning. "I was messing with you."

She turned around and glared at him. How could she have fallen for that, she had no idea but she felt stupid right now and annoyed. "Hence, the name _Messer_," she said out loud, exaggerating on his name. Oh, she was not so pleased.

Danny, however, failed to see that so he laughed even more. "You're being too serious. You should have seen the look on your face, it's—" he stopped short, looked at her in the eye, suppressing a scream that he was afraid might wake Don's neighbors up. Isabelle had just stomped on his feet.

"It's what, hilarious? Priceless?" she asked, throwing him a bright smile as if she never did stomp on his feet. "Are you okay, Danny? You don't look so good."

Don who witnessed it from the doorway of his apartment door laughed. "Didn't I tell you, Danny? Don't mess with DeFranco in the morning."

Isabelle gave Don a sarcastic smile and walked right past him into his apartment, which was currently in a state of chaos. She stopped walking immediately that Don bumped right into her who was walking maybe a little too close behind her. He quickly backed a few steps. "What? What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"Don," she groaned, turning around to face him "Is this how you live, seriously?"

He looked around his own apartment. The couch was strewn with dress shirts and pants, the hardwood floor in front of his plasma TV was littered with several DVD and compact disc cases, empty mugs, sweet wrappers and can drinks taking up space on his coffee table, an empty pizza box left alone on his dining table with its chairs not pushed in. He had no time to clean up. He watched as Isabelle made her way into his kitchen and cringed when she started complaining.

"And the sink," she raised her voice, "the sink, Don. Don't you ever do your dishes? That's a lot for just one person!" He listened as she moved around in the kitchen. "What is this? Don't you wipe and clean your countertop, your chopping board, your stove?"

"My feet hurt," Danny whispered to Don, limping just a little. He could still walk normally but his slight limping was noticeable. He slipped into his jacket. "Can we go now? We're going to be—"

"And don't you know when to throw out decayed food?" Isabelle spoke again from inside the kitchen.

Danny shook his head and slapped Don upside his head. "Didn't I tell you to throw it away? What are you, dumb?"

"I forgot, Messer!" he hissed.

"We're going to be late," Danny said looking at him.

"Belle," Don called ignoring Danny and walked into his kitchen to see her head literally shoved in his refrigerator. He was about to tell her off right away but ended up stealing a quick glance up her legs and the curves of her body when she stood up straight.

"What's with men and legs?" she asked as she closed the refrigerator door and turned around. He looked away quickly. "I mean Danny does it. Jace does it and even—"

"No, no, no," Danny stepped in. "Don wasn't looking at your legs. He was looking at—"

"What?" Don cut him off. "Jace looks at you like that?"

"No, Don, he didn't," she lied. If she said yes, then he would definitely be late for work. "You can stop being jealous. We're in New York."

"We're going to be late, Flack," Danny tried again, hoping this would be the last time he had to remind his friend.

Don scoffed. "I'm not jealous."

"Says the man who wrestled Jace to the ground when he was on top of me, says the man who said he didn't like the way Jace was looking at me, and says the man—"

"I was just looking out for you," Don defended himself. "Not out of jealousy."

"You suck at lying," Danny muttered from beside him and then said out loud. "We're going to be late."

"I'll second that," Isabelle agreed with Danny and fixed her gaze upon Don. "Where's my box? I'll be on my way out after that."

"In my bedroom," Don replied gesturing her to follow. Danny stared at the two, gaping. He could not believe that Don was still taking his own sweet time. He read the time off of his wristwatch. _We're already late!_

"Don, we're—"

"We're going to be late," Don finished off, yelling at him. "I know!" He bent down and picked the box up but the opening below tore open that its contents fell out haphazardly on his bedroom floor. "You're kidding me," he mumbled tossing the box aside.

"Actually, we're _already_ late and don't yell at me," Danny said approaching the bedroom, noticing the mess. "That's a lot of books," he remarked seeing the thick novels on the floor.

"Jeez, Don," Isabelle said looking around his bedroom. "You had a big fight last night or what? Is this really your bedroom? This is like a secret hideout of a criminal. I mean look at your bed. It's disturbingly disarrayed, pillows which are supposedly to be _on _the bed is on the floor. Your towel, your shoes, your socks, your magazines, your—" her eyes landed on his boxer shorts.

"I didn't have time to clean up, all right? I'm a busy man."

"We're already late. Can we go now?" Danny raised his voice. "Come on, let's go. Go put on your tie. Let's go." Danny ushered Don back out into the living room where Don had a hard time finding the tie he intended to use earlier.

"Where's my tie? It was there just now," Don asked with frustration.

"Tie, tie, tie," Danny mumbled to himself picking up several pieces of clothing off of his couch and tossing it aside to help Don find it. "Where the hell is your tie? How could you lose your tie in your apartment? You're unbelievable!"

"Well it was there just now! Stop tossing my clothes aside; you're making a bigger mess!"

"Since it's already a mess," Danny said looking under the couch now, "why not just make it into a bigger mess!"

"Messer, it's me who's going to clean up; not you!" he bellowed lifting one of the cushions on his couch and then slammed it back in place. "God damn it, where is it!"

"You tell me!"

"Good God, can you both stop yelling at each other?" Isabelle called out from his bedroom and emerged out with a navy blue tie. "Just wear this and get out," she said handing it to Don.

"Last time I check," Don said placing the tie under the collar of his dress shirt, "this is my apartment." He began tying the tie as he moved about grabbing the things he needed.

"Well do you want to come back to a messy apartment?" she asked. "I need to pick my things up that you dropped and that's going to take a while."

"Let's just go. Come on," Danny said already opening the apartment door. "She's not going to steal anything. So let's go."

"You going to clean?" Don asked in disbelief, stopping before her.

She nodded. "It's disturbing. It's way too messy. How can you live like this? I'm doing you a favor. I'll lock up when I'm done. So don't worry. Just go."

"Are you sure?"

Danny groaned out loud, "God damn it, Don!" He pulled Don towards the door with him "She's going to clean for you, you heard that right. Let's go now."

When the door finally closed shut and the two already walked away, Isabelle sighed looking at the current state of the apartment.

She was going to get her hands dirty.

**X**

**demolished-soul **- _Yep! It has to do with both Aiden and Don. I'm afraid I'm going to need a little more time on writing that out because, well, I haven't really thought about it. But yeah, I will be writing why she left. Thank you for your review! ( :_


End file.
